


Human sample

by RadioactiveDeLorean



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Ford basically gets himself captured, M/M, in an alien zoo, it's not pretty, kind of angst, set while Ford was in the portal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioactiveDeLorean/pseuds/RadioactiveDeLorean
Summary: Based onthis postby looloolalalol on Tumblr. A friend of mine read it and he said I should continue it, so I am! Set during the 30-year-period Ford was trapped in the portal. No Journal 3/ Season 2 finale spoilers.Ford had been on the run for ten years now, and he'd escaped more than his fair share of incidents. His escaping skills are put to the test when he gets captured by foreign dimension animal control officers and sent to a zoo, where he is put on display as a human sample. He's treated like an animal, but until he can think of a way out that doesn't involve excessive amounts of force, he's trapped.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post: [ this post](http://looloolalalol.tumblr.com/post/156622875377/bonus-more-family-fun-day) by looloolalalol on Tumblr.

Stanford held his breath as the intergalactic animal control passed by mere feet from his hiding place, behind a stack of crates. They were an ugly looking species. Four legs and two arms apiece, their skin was a dirty green colour and had a similar texture to worn leather. They each had three eyes, with irises that seemed to glow pale green in the light. There were four of them. Three of them were brandishing nets, the fourth a tranquilizer gun. Apparently, in this dimension, humans were regarded the same way as stray dogs were back home. 

 

_ Home,  _ Ford sighed. That was a place he couldn't stop thinking about. It had been almost ten years since he'd been knocked through the portal. Almost ten years since he'd seen Fiddleford. Almost ten years since he'd last seen his brother. Before then, it had been another ten years since Stanley had been kicked out and Ford had turned his back on him. That meant Ford had only seen his brother once in  _ twenty years,  _ and that had only been to tell him to get as far away as possible. 

 

Stanford put his head in his hands. He was in real deep shit and this time he didn't have anyone to pull him out of it. Sure, over the last ten years he'd been in more than his fair share of crap, but he'd either been lucky or had some means of defending himself. He'd lost his blaster when they were chasing him, shortly before he'd found this hiding spot. Against his will, Ford let out a harsh sob. His stomach growled furiously. It seemed like forever since he’d last eaten - anything that was safe for him to consume was rather scarce out here. At first, he’d managed to bargain his way into food and shelter, but as he moved through dimensions, that tactic had gone cold. He’d resorted to stealing bits of food from tables and houses that had been left unlocked. He hated stealing - it was dishonest and rude - but he had had no other option. As the dimensions grew more populated, it got harder for him to get food that way. He had, until recently, been raiding trash bins for anything he could find, and had rarely been able to keep down whatever he did find. Who knew what sort of diseases he had?

 

Ford heard a shout come from ten yards in front of him, snapping him out of his misery, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. Ford heard the officers approach, before the crate he was hiding behind was pulled away, revealing the man curled up behind it. He immediately got to his feet and tried to make a run for it. He felt a breeze over the back of his neck as a net just barely missed him. Panting heavily, Ford ran as fast as his legs could possibly carry him. It didn’t help that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten and his stomach ached painfully as he forced himself to move.

 

He didn't get far before something sharp embedded itself into his right shoulder. He let out a yelp and swing his left arm around, ripping the tranquilizer dart out. He knew this was pointless, however, as the sedative was already coursing through his system. His head was beginning to spin. He found he couldn't keep running, his legs feeling like lead weights. Eventually, he stopped altogether and collapsed onto the rocky ground. Shapes moved around him, voices becoming inaudible as Ford felt his strength leave him. As his vision faded, Ford felt himself being dragged over to what looked like a large pet carrier. They shoved him forcefully into it and hauled the cage into a truck. As they drove away, Ford's world went dark.

 

\------

 

Ford woke with a jolt. He was still in the tight cage, his knees pressed right up to his chin. He was terribly cramped. He had a pounding headache, most likely the result of the sedatives wearing off. The truck hit another bump in the road, making the cage to jump up and causing Ford to smack his head into the ceiling. He yelped. That wasn't going to make his headache any better. The spot where he'd been struck with the tranquilizer dart was swollen and sore and it hurt for him to use it.

 

Ford had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but it was roughly an hour after he'd woken up when the truck finally came to a halt. He heard the officers get out and walk round to the back of the truck. Ford felt them lift his crate up and carry it forward. He could hear them talking, but couldn't understand a word. Putting a hand to his throat, Ford gasped. His translator! They must have removed it while he was unconscious. The crate was jostled again and his head hit the ceiling, causing him to groan in pain.

 

Next thing he knew, he was being thrown into some sort of enclosure. He landed face down in the dirt. By the time he'd scrambled to his feet, the cage door behind him had been locked. He grabbed the bars and pulled furiously, but the door refused to budge. Three or four creatures in khaki green uniforms were standing on the out side having a conversation. He couldn't understand a damn word anybody was saying, not without his translator. His anger soon left him. His hands shook and his eyes stung. Two of the four walls of the enclosure were glass, with multiple species of alien on the other side. Multiple cameras flashed and small children pointed at him, asking their parents strange questions in strange languages. The other two walls were made of black brickwork. He was in a zoo.

 

Walking across the purple grass, Ford sat down cross-legged and hunched over, putting his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as he sobbed. What the hell was he going to do now? He couldn't ask for help - nobody could understand him without his translator. He was on display like some sort of freak of nature. Ford laughed bitterly to himself.  _ Freak.  _ It wasn't like he hadn't heard that before. He'd always been branded as a freak back home, but never like this. To these people, he was as interesting as a white lion in an Earth zoo. They were taking photos of him. They saw him as some sort of attraction.

 

As he calmed down, Ford took some time to look around at his new 'home’, if that's even what it could be called. Multiple piles of straw were placed around the area. A large bowl of clear liquid stood in the centre of the space, like a makeshift pond. There was a pipe in the middle, filtering the liquid from the bottom of the pond and releasing the clean stuff back into the bowl. Ford just hoped that was water. The whole enclosure was maybe twenty foot by ten foot. There was some sort of shed in the back corner, built out of a dark orange type of wood Ford hadn't seen before. There was a large dog door on one side, with a small ramp leading from the dirt to the entrance. The structure looked like a huge wooden chicken coop. Getting up, he walked over to it to get a closer look. Inside, in the corner by the brick wall, was a large pile of straw, clearly with the intention of being a bed. A large bowl stood beside it, full of the same clear liquid. In the opposite corner, around the corner of a separate wall, was what he could only assume was a toilet. The ceramic bowl was cracked and stained, but when Ford pushed the handle down, it flushed. There was a roll of toilet paper on the ground beside it. He figured that was the only luxury he had in this place. At least he wouldn't have to squat in a pile of straw or stand up against a tree like a dog. It was out of sight of the zoo visitors, too, so he at least still had his privacy.

 

Ford made his way over to the pile of straw and sat down. It wasn't the most comfortable thing he'd ever sat on, but at least it was better than sleeping in the dirt. He shrugged his tattered coat off and laid it down, leaving him in his torn and still blood-spotted shirt and pants. He was a mess; ten years of jumping between dimensions had left him in less than perfect conditions. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a shower. He'd have to use the pond to wash himself down. When, of course, night fell. Like hell he was going to bathe himself in front of all those cameras.

 

Ford felt a lump in his throat and he lowered his head. How could they do this to him? Was there some sort of cosmic law that stated he had to have a rough time while away from his home dimension? Was it decided, when he was born, that he would have to struggle more than anybody else? He briefly wondered if this was due to his birth defect, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. That was ridiculous! He wasn’t the only human to have been born different. There were people with far worse defects than just an extra finger on each hand. Still, ever since he had first started school, he’d been the object of ridicule amongst both students and parents alike. The teachers generally liked him, since he frequently aced subjects and was always eager to learn and achieve. That didn’t stop Crampelter and his gang threatening him and beating him up on a near-daily basis, but it at least made it easier knowing he had his teachers’ support.

 

He’d had Stanley, too, which is more than he could say now. His twin didn’t share the same intellect, but his brute strength, fighting abilities and headstrong attitude made up for what he lacked intelligence-wise. 

 

\-----

 

Ford was sitting in the dirt, using a stick to draw in the dust between the patches of grass. He sketched eyebats, leprecorns, scampfires and a number of other oddities he'd found in his time in Gravity Falls. By now, he'd grown immune to the cameras flashing in his face constantly. He'd already been here nearly two Earth months. He had no idea how long that was in terms of local time, but his watch told him it was currently 3:50am on Earth in his home dimension. 

 

The man wiped a hand over his face to try and get the dirt out his eyes. He only succeeded in smearing it. Grunting in frustration, he got up and walked over to the pond. Since discovering the liquid was just water and wasn't infused with any sort of poison or sedative, he'd been using it to keep himself relatively clean. He knelt beside the pond and removed his glasses, cupping his hands under the pipe and splashing his face with the cold water. It was icy cold, something he took as a benefit in the heat. It must have been the height of summer on his planet, as even though his enclosure had a cooling system, he was far too warm. He'd taken his shirt off, leaving him in a short sleeved T-shirt which was smeared with dirt and smelled foul. The pipe could only get so much of the grime and stink out of his clothes. 

 

Ford scrubbed at his face with the water. He knelt forward, submerging his face in the pond. He scrubbed his fringe and tossed his hair back, wiping his face dry with his shirt collar. He looked over to the glass, where a group of small children were standing, looking in on him. They appeared to be on a school trip of some sort, judging by the uniforms. A taller, older creature of the same species, presumably the teacher, stood to the right of the group. The creature pointed at Ford and spoke to the kids. Ford assumed they were telling the children some probably-not-true facts about humans, like the colour of their eyes determined hierarchy and any red-haired humans were considered royalty and served by the others. The man rolled his eyes, got up, and walked over to the shed. He crawled through the door and sat down in the straw. It was much cooler in the shed than outside. He wiped his forehead with a six-fingered hand and laid down. Despite the air conditioning unit above his head, it was still uncomfortably warm in his enclosure. 

 

Ford still hated that word, but he couldn't think of a better term. It's what he was in, after all. An enclosure. He'd never be able to look at an Earth zoo again, now that he knew what it was like on the inside. He had tried so many times to get out. He’d tried bending the bars on the door apart, but only succeeded in dislocating his shoulder. The zookeepers had noticed the injury and he'd been sedated so they could fix it. He'd tried climbing on top of the shack in the corner and attempted to remove the air conditioning to make a hole big enough for him to escape, but had only succeeded in slicing his palms open on the sharp fan blades inside. He'd had to sacrifice the right sleeve of his shirt to bandage them, but he was sure they'd become infected. After he'd been caught trying to dig his way under the fence, cinder blocks had been laid around the edge of the enclosure to keep him in. While he couldn't understand  _ anything  _ the zookeepers were saying, he had a feeling that if he tried to escape again, they'd have to ….  _ alter  _ his anatomy to keep him calm. 

 

That was enough to put him off from any further escape attempts. Since then, he'd been planning a method of liberating himself from incarceration which required less brute force and more clever thinking. His mind drew a blank, though. Usually, his quick thinking and careful planning helped him out of sticky situations. Here, however? The roof of his enclosure was half wooden planks, half wire net, so he couldn’t climb out. The fence at the back of the enclosure was blocked off by cinder blocks, which he had no hope of moving, even if he did manage to dig his way underneath again. He couldn’t break the lock on the door - it was made of a substance he’d barely seen before and was virtually indestructible. He didn’t have any scissors, knives, lockpicks or even so much as hairpins that he could use to get out. All he had where the clothes on his back, the muddy, worn-out boots on his feet and his glasses. He couldn’t bargain with the keepers, since they didn’t understand English and he couldn’t understand them.

 

In other words, it seemed hopeless.

 

Ford had never really believed in hope. Sure, as a kid, he’d always dreamed of sailing round the world with his brother, but as time went on, that dream faded into obscurity. After Stanley had been kicked out, he hadn’t contacted his brother in years. Sure, he could have used his grant money to pay for his travels, but it was no fun doing it alone. He couldn’t live their dream without his brother by his side. Since then, he’d discarded the idea of hope and focused on his studies. He couldn’t just hope that he’d get out of this damn zoo, he had to do something.

 

A loud banging noise snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked over to the glass panels on the far side of the enclosure. Two young creatures were banging on the glass with their fists, clearly trying to make Ford do something interesting. He was reminded of going to the zoo with his twin and mother as a kid. Despite Ford’s protests, Stan had insisted on knocking on the glass of the enclosures of most of the animals there to try and get them to move. Ford sighed and looked away. He wasn’t going to give those kids what they wanted. What did they expect him to do, ride around on a unicycle and juggle bowling pins? 

 

When the creatures didn’t get a sufficient response out of Ford, they just knocked harder. Ford growled. The noise echoed around him and was starting to give him a headache. He looked over at the creatures and got to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his hands into fists and marched over. He stopped three inches from the glass, glaring directly at the kids. He gathered a little saliva in his mouth and spat it at them, smirking at their disgusted expressions before turning on his heel and marching back over to the shed. He crawled inside and sat down on the pile of hay. 

 

He was starting to go insane in this place. He’d already lost his cool once and he was determined not to lose his mind too. He hadn’t spoken to another person, alien or otherwise, in months. He’d taken to talking to himself quietly. He knew that was one of the first signs of madness, but he feared he would grow insane much faster by  _ not  _ talking to himself. Sometimes, when he was knelt by the pond, he’d stare at his reflection in the gently rippling water and imagine he was talking to Stanley. It hurt, knowing that his own twin had been the one to get him stuck in this mess in the first place.

 

_ It was an accident,  _ Ford chided himself. _ You were fighting and he lashed out at the worst possible moment. He had no idea what was going to happen.  _

 

Ford sighed and stared at the wall. It wasn’t going to do him any good dwelling on the negative thoughts like this. He had to figure out a way of escaping. He was starting to believe that this was it. That this was as far as he could go. Despite years of being on the run, he couldn’t think of a way out of this one. He felt like he’d disappointed not only his parents, but himself, by giving up like this. He could just imagine his father’s unimpressed comment and cold glare. His mother’s sad gaze, seeing that her son had given up when faced with a challenge such as this. He’d never given up over a particularly difficult test paper, even when his teachers gave him degree-level work to complete. He hadn’t given in whenever he’d been surrounded by Crampelter and his gang, with or without his brother’s help. Sure, he’d had more than his fair share of rough days, but nothing he couldn’t overcome. 

 

This, however, was rather more significant than anything school had thrown at him. There hadn’t been the threat of starvation, capture, dying from loss of blood or being forced onto display like a circus animal back at Backupsmore. At least there, if he failed, he had the opportunity to work harder and make things right, rather than have his manhood taken away. Just the thought of that happening made Ford feel physically sick. 

 

Ford took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He’d noticed that his hands were shaking, and balled them into fists and shoved them into his pockets. He couldn’t afford to keep getting upset. He’d had his moment, he’d done that bit. Now was not the time to start crying and whining about how ‘life isn’t fair’ and ‘why me?’. He had to keep a level head if he ever had a chance of getting out of here.

 

That was easier said than done when you were locked up like an animal.

 


	2. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford has to keep his sanity somehow, but with nobody to talk to, he makes some new friends in the night sky above him.

Stanford retched violently, the force of his stomach emptying itself causing him to physically move forward each time. His throat burned and his stomach ached. His eyes were watering. Ford’s shoulders were trembling violently. It felt like someone was holding his stomach in their hands and squeezing it hard, pulling it around and digging their fingers into his internal organs. It was horrible. The acidic bile stung his throat, only making the whole ordeal infinitely worse. He absolutely detested the sensation of being sick. He was fairly sure nobody actually liked it, but still. It was pitch-black in the shed, the keepers having provided no form of artificial light to keep the shed lit up during the night. His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, but his eyesight was already poor, even in good lighting.

 

When he felt his stomach stop lurching, Ford wiped his mouth on some toilet paper, pushed the handle down and sat back. Lifting his left hand to his face, he noticed how badly he was shaking. He was pale, too, and dripping with sweat, making him shiver. He got up and stumbled over towards where he had left his jacket, atop the pile of straw in the corner of the small shack. He pulled it around himself and sat down. Ford frowned and put the back of his hand to his forehead. He felt warm.

 

_ Great,  _ he mused.  _ I’ve got a fever. Perfect.  _

 

He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d contracted food poisoning in the first place if he was honest. He hadn’t detected a change in the food the keepers had been giving him. Sure, a lump of raw meat (he had no idea what animal it was from, but it was oddly maroon-coloured and smelled like lavender and vanilla) and a load of some kind of salad wasn’t exactly what he would call a ‘balanced diet’, but he’d been eating it for a month at least by now and hadn’t had any symptoms of illness from it. At first, he’d been stubborn and the keepers had had a hard time getting him to eat, but after the first ten days, his hunger got the better of him and he’d eaten it. It tasted surprisingly more pleasant than what he had been expecting (like somewhere between duck and beef), but it wasn’t very nice, by any means. Ford had never really cared for raw meats. He liked his steak almost charred - unlike his brother, whose steak was practically still alive - and the sensation of eating meat that wasn’t cooked was rather disgusting. He didn’t have a choice, though. If he wanted to stay alive, he had to eat. The last ‘meal’ he’d had had been at least ten days before he’d been captured, so that meant he’d gone two whole weeks without eating. He was still considerably more underweight than he had been when he’d first been knocked through the portal, despite having actually eaten on a regular basis for the last few days. It wasn’t much, though, which explained his current weight. He was probably eating less than nine hundred calories a day, only 40% of what a male his age should be eating. He wasn’t inactive - he’d regularly be doing exercise around his enclosure, he couldn’t afford to let himself go - and nine hundred calories a day was enough to make him lose two or three pounds a week.

 

Ford took a deep breath, running his hands over his face. He still felt terribly nauseous, despite his stomach being empty. He looked over to the water dish in the corner of the shed and picked it up, tipping the bowl up and taking small sips of water. It had been barely thirty seconds since he’d swallowed before he was once again knelt over the toilet bowl heaving up all of the water he’d just swallowed. He coughed and spluttered, his eyes watering furiously again. Once again, he wiped his mouth off and flushed the vomit away. The shack now had a faint but foul odour of acidic bile and rotting food. Ford gagged again, for once not due to the nausea. He got up and crawled through the door to leave. 

 

The fresh air outside was a welcome relief to his pounding head. Ford ran his six-fingered hands through his hair, gently tugging out the knots and tangles. By doing so, he let the cool air circulate around his scalp. This helped his headache further. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Ford lay down in the grass with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the night sky through the net hanging above his enclosure. The sky on this planet was fascinating - a swirling mixture of pale blues and greens in the daytime, before plunging into violets and cobalts at night. There were two suns visible from his position on the planet - a large, almost silver one, accompanied by a smaller pale pink one at the 5 o’clock position. At night, Ford had counted a total of seven moons, each a different size and colour and each appearing at different times of the night, and at different intervals in the week. The largest one, a pale duck-egg blue one with small navy blue specks, he’d nicknamed Edison. He’d named them all, actually, and if one were to stand outside his enclosure at night (though none of the creatures on this planet could understand him), he could sometimes be heard having conversations with them. The deep red one was called Filbrick, since it reminded him of the colour his father’s face would turn when he was angry (which was often). Always next to Filbrick, the smaller, paler red one was called Chloe, after his mother. The pure white one was called Einstein, the grey one Tesla and the pale lilac one called Nightingale. That just left…

 

_ Stanley,  _ Ford sighed to himself. The third largest one and the one that was visible for the longest period of time, a pale peach moon with red specks, was named after his twin brother. That was the one he talked to the most. At first, the one-way conversations had involved Ford demanding to know why Stanley shoved him, why Stanley broke his science project, why Stanley hadn’t tried to grab his brother as he’d been pulled into the portal, why Stanley tried to burn the journal. As time went on, however, the tone of the conversations had changed. Over the last week, Ford hadn’t mentioned the broken science project once. Instead, he’d been apologising over and over again to his brother for giving up on him. For turning his back on him when Stan needed him the most. For ignoring him for ten years and not even bothering to contact him. For finally contacting him, only to tell Stan to stay as far away from Gravity Falls as possible. For pushing Stanley into the burning symbol on the side of the desk and causing Stan to get burnt. For… for being a terrible brother.

 

At the moment, Stanley was the only moon Ford could see. He found his mind wandering back to the childhood he had shared with his twin. All the times Stanley had been hurt due to Ford’s own weakness. Ford had never been as physically strong as his brother, nor as good at fighting, and Ford hated himself for it. Sure, now, maybe things were a little different, but back then, Ford had never been able to throw a punch even a tenth as good as his brother could. Stanley had achieved second place in the New Jersey Youth Boxing championships when he was in the ninth grade, after all, and Ford could barely cause a bruise when he hit people. He’d fought with words instead, something which was much more his forte but something the other kids certainly didn’t like. Who the hell was this little six-fingered freak to tell them what to do? As a result of his quick wit, Ford found himself frequently in trouble. Stanley, nine times out of ten, was there to haul his brother’s ass out of it, but on the one-in-ten occasions where Ford was alone, he’d been beaten senseless. 

 

Ford lifted his left hand up to look at it. He counted his fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six. There had always been six, no matter how many times he counted, no matter how many times he dreamt of having normal hands. No matter what time of the day, the year, he always had six fingers on each hand. Looking at his hand closely, Ford examined the thin scar running across the knuckle of his sixth finger and just grazing his ring finger. Back in high school, when he was fifteen, he'd tried to remove his finger. He'd locked himself in the bathroom and sliced at it again and again with a small vegetable knife. He'd tried so hard to cut his extra finger off. When he'd hit bone, he pressed down hard with the blade, but nothing had happened. Stan had heard his sobs from their bedroom and had broken down the door, only to find Ford standing at the sink with blood dripping down his forearm and falling to the floor. Ford had looked like a deer in the headlights, absolutely mortified. Stan had knocked the knife from his brother’s hand and embraced him in a tight but brief hug. He'd dragged Ford down the stairs and forced him to go to the hospital. They'd managed to get Ford fixed up without their parents finding out. Ford had simply worn gloves until his hand had healed.

 

Ford sighed and put his hand down, staring up at the night sky. Stan had moved about twenty degrees to the left and now Filbrick and Chloe were visible. His parents…

 

“Mom, Dad… I’m sorry,” Ford mumbled. “I just don’t know how I’m going to get out of this. I’ve tried, and I think they’re gonna neuter me if I try again. I don’t know what to do.”

 

Filbrick simply gazed down at Ford, while deep purple clouds drifted over, completely obscuring Chloe from view. Ford choked on a sob. He was being pathetic. He was a forty-year-old man, talking to huge inanimate objects thousands of miles away and pretending that they were his family. Before he knew it, the clouds had moved over and Filbrick had disappeared too. Spots of moisture started hitting Ford’s face. They were ice cold. The clouds above him emptied themselves, dropping buckets of freezing rain down onto the world below. Ford quickly pushed himself up and trudged back over to the shed, crawling inside. He’d learned the hard way that the rain on this planet was slightly acidic. Once, he’d found it overwhelmingly warm in his enclosure and had removed his shirt before stepping out into the rain, thinking it would cool him down. It did, for a moment, before the acidic water started reacting with his skin and leaving nasty burns on his shoulders and back. They had itched terribly as they healed. 

 

Ford plonked himself down inside, laying down in the straw. He didn’t know what to do. He reckoned that if he had his brother with him, they’d have some sort of plan. Ford could do the thinking while Stan could try and get out by force. The man shook the thoughts off. He couldn’t wish that his brother was here. Sure, his brother had been a nuisance, but he wouldn’t wish this kind of thing on anybody. The keepers were breaking practically every Earth human rights act by treating him like this. He didn’t have any proper shelter, any decent facilities, no good food, barely any clean water and he was being held here against his will. This was similar to the horror stories in the news of people being kidnapped and forced to live in horrible conditions by some sick maniac. Except, on this planet, this was all perfectly legal. What was worse was that people were making  _ money  _ out of him being here. Just yesterday, Ford had seen a small child wandering around holding a small stuffed toy that looked like a human. It had the same messy brown hairstyle as Ford and the same glasses. Ford had a sneaking suspicion that it had six fingers, too. 

 

He couldn’t help but laugh to himself in, the darkness. He was a joke. He was nothing more. There was no doubt that in the gift shop, one could buy a mug or a notebook with a picture of Ford on it, the same way you could buy a notebook with a lion or an elephant on it in an Earth zoo. It was absolutely disgusting, and at that moment, Ford made a pact with himself to never set foot in another zoo ever again. He didn’t know if he’d even be able to, now that he knew what it was like to be one of the animals held against their will in a small enclosure, being forced to live off food that was barely sufficient and having to sleep in a pile of straw every night. 

 

Sighing, the man closed his eyes. The straw pricked his back uncomfortably, making it feel as though he was sleeping on coarse sandpaper. He’d tried to sleep outside before, but the nights on this planet were simply far too cold. He’d woken up one morning to find that dew had settled in his hair and had actually frozen, despite his own body head. His night outside had led to a nasty cold, which he was still feeling the after-effects of. Since then, he’d figured he had no choice but to sleep on the sorry excuse for a ‘bed’ inside the shack. Shifting slightly, he tried to get comfortable, adjusting his jacket to try and protect his back from the sharp points of the straw. Eventually, Ford managed to drift off to sleep. 

 

Almost immediately, his dreams were plagued by images of Bill once again. He was running, faster than he had ever ran before. At first, he didn’t know whether he was awake or asleep, since the Nightmare Realm was exactly as he remembered it. Swirling red and purple skies, dark red and black asteroids, and of course, Bill and his henchmaniacs. He truly thought he was back  _ there  _ again, until he managed to jump an impossible distance and deflect an electricity beam from Bill with only his bare hands. That was when Ford realized he was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, yet he kept running. Back on Earth, in his home dimension, if Ford had been hurt in a dream, he would instantly wake up. He was always spared from whatever sort of horrors his mind had concocted a split second before he was shot, or eaten, or scratched, or stabbed, or whatever it may be. More often than not, he had been faced with a dream version of his childhood bullies. He was asleep to hear the insults, shouts, swears and threats but always woke up just before the first kick or punch. Here, however, he didn’t know if the same rules applied. Before he’d realized BIll had tricked him, he would frequently drift off to sleep and wake up with mysterious bruises or scratches, which Bill would insist he had no knowledge of. 

 

That had been a lie, of course, since Ford later figured out that Bill was hurting his body while in possession of it. Ford didn’t know if Bill could possess his body from where he was right now, but he doubted it. It was likely Bill was unable to pass through the Dreamscape to get to him from where he was, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Ford hated himself for the deal he had made, allowing Bill to pass in and out of his mind freely. He couldn’t break the deal without killing himself and he wasn’t prepared to do that. He had to stay alive long enough to be able to gather enough information on Bill to be able to defeat him and save the multiverse from any more of Bill’s chaos. 

 

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to continue his efforts just yet. At least in this enclosure, he was safe from any predators and/or bounty hunters who were hunting him down for either food or money. An Earth year ago (Ford still used Earth time, no matter which dimension he was in), he’d had a rather nasty run-in with a wild-haired alcoholic scientist who had now put a bounty on his head. It turned out the guy had a lot of connections with bounty hunters, and plenty of money to boot. Apparently the guy himself (Ford remembered his surname was Sanchez, but didn’t know any more than that) was an outlaw and wanted by some government called the ‘Galactic Federation’ for every crime under the sun. Ford had done some research on the Galactic Federation. Apparently, in over three thousand dimensions, they were the Earth equivalent of the government. Earth wasn’t one of the planets that was part of it, however. Well, at least Ford’s dimension’s Earth wasn’t. No, Ford had to get out of this place before he could do anything. He’d come this far and he wasn’t prepared to just throw in the towel. 

 

An explosion of rock to his left snapped him out of his reverie. Right, he was still running from Dream Bill. By this time, he was breathing heavily and his legs felt like they were melting, yet he couldn’t feel them aching. Sprinting round the corner of a large chunk of the meteorite he was running on, Ford smacked head-first into a solid wall and fell backwards. That hurt. Right, he could still be hurt by his own stupidity. He scrambled to his feet and had just put his foot up on a small ledge fifteen inches off the ground when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand pulled him backwards and next thing he knew, Ford was face to face with Bill Cipher himself. Before he could so much as put his hands up to shield himself, Bill had struck him with a beam.

 

Ford sat bolt upright in the shack, drenched in sweat and panting. The good news was that he still woke up before he could be hurt, but the bad news was that Bill could still torment him as he slept. The man put a six-fingered hand to his forehead and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He was fine. He was in the shack in his enclosure. Bill wasn’t anywhere near him. He was safe.

 

“Get a grip, Stanford,” he muttered to himself, trying to steady his shaking hands. He was freezing now, the cold sweat causing his body to release too much heat and making him shiver. It was still dark in the shed, but Ford got up anyway. He couldn’t hear any rain falling outside and deduced it must have stopped by now. Crawling through the small door, he stepped outside to stretch his legs. To the far east of the enclosure, Ford could see a faint sliver of light over the horizon. The glow was mostly silver, indicating that the larger of the two suns was rising first. It reminded him of the sunrise from Glass Shard Beach back in New Jersey, sitting on the swings by the ocean with his brother.

 

Ford felt dizzy, but at least his nausea had passed by now. His stomach still ached, which wasn’t unexpected, considering how violently he’d been sick. His forehead didn’t feel as warm, either. That was a relief. Maybe the high temperature had just been a result of the vomiting. He remembered being hot like that during his earlier childhood after catching a stomach bug from another kid at school. His mother had told him that he would feel much better after the first day or so. Her words were still true, even nearly thirty years later. 

 

“Don’t worry, mom,” Ford said quietly to himself. He squared his shoulders. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

  
He just hoped he’d be able to keep that promise. 


	3. Change of scenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford gets moved to a larger, more open enclosure, but he isn't there for very long.

Ford squinted at the poster on the glass. It must have been put up while he was asleep last night. He couldn’t read a word it said. Not only was the writing foreign and alien, it was mirrored. He could see a photo of himself just below a large bold title, so he assumed it had something to do with him. What that was, exactly, he didn’t know. 

 

“You’re being paranoid,” he muttered to himself. “It’s probably just an informative article about humans.”

 

Shrugging, Ford walked back over to the pond and sat down, drawing figure-of-eights in the water with his finger. Something was oddly therapeutic about the way the water rippled and swirled around his touch. It reminded him of the times he and his brother used to go swimming in the sea near their home, or when their mother had once taken them to the local swimming pool. Ford had ended up being an object of ridicule there, being jeered at kids in the changing rooms, and had refused to go back there. Since then, they’d only ever gone swimming in the summer when the cold seawater was much more bearable. Sure, more often than not they’d come home reeking of saltwater and with the odd bit of seaweed stuck to them, but at least that way Ford hadn’t been picked on. That was another thing he and Stanley couldn’t enjoy - the simple pleasure of swimming in a heated, clean public pool.

 

The man leant forward and looked at his reflection in the rippling water. He stopped swirling his fingers around for a minute and removed his glasses. Squinting to get his eyes focus, Ford stared into his reflection’s eyes. Through his blurred vision, he almost saw his brother staring back up at him with the same disappointed expression. Scowling, Ford slapped his hand across the surface of the water, sending droplets flying. He couldn’t even look at himself without seeing his brother. Sure, they weren’t as identical as they had been when they were kids, but it was still obvious that they were duplicates of each other. Apart from Ford’s extra digit and his glasses, he reckoned nobody would be able to tell the pair apart. 

 

Ford flopped back into the grass, tugging out the individual purple blades with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. It gave him something to do. It was quite remarkably boring in this enclosure. He had nothing to read, nothing to build and nothing to do. Sure, he had his daily exercise routine, but that wasn’t enough to keep him occupied. He couldn’t spend the whole day working out or he would be reduced to just muscle and bone within two weeks. He was already burning more calories than he was taking in. He was doing at least ten Earth hours of exercise a week and was taking in barely any food. Three meals a day - one in the morning, one around midday and one in the evening - were barely enough to sustain him even if he had been inactive. 

 

The sound of the gate to his enclosure opening caught his attention. Ford quickly put his glasses back on and sat bolt upright, adrenaline instantly rushing into his bloodstream. The last time the keepers had come in here, he’d been sedated. He didn’t know what they had done to him while he was unconscious, but considering his body hadn’t been altered in any way, they obviously hadn’t done any sort of behavioural-adjustment surgery on him. He’d woken up twelve hours later, back in his enclosure like nothing had happened, feeling a lot less nauseous. The food poisoning he’d been suffering from must have been cured by whatever sort of drug they’d given him. 

 

Ford got to his feet and backed away as a keeper approached. Strangely, there was just the one. Usually there were two at least - one extra to sedate him if necessary. The keeper was holding a snare, the loop of which was pointing towards the human. Ford’s eyes widened. He was getting taken somewhere else, wasn’t he? He lifted his hands up in front of him, continuing to back away from the keeper. He reckoned, if he bolted, he could make it to the gate before the keeper caught him. Crouching down, Ford waited for the keeper to get a little closer before he pressed down with his feet and took off running.

 

He’d barely gone three feet before the keeper had the snare around his neck and Ford was tugged painfully to a halt, collapsing on the ground. He let out a sharp cry, feeling the rough material choke him. He got to his feet, tugging at the cable around his throat. The keeper loosened it ever so slightly - just enough to allow Ford to breathe - before leading him out of the enclosure. Ford glanced back over his shoulder. He’d left his jacket in there and, while it was torn, old and blood-stained, he wasn’t willing to part with it. He made a futile attempt to resist the keeper’s force, but gave up as he saw a second keeper collect his jacket and follow after the first.

 

Ford was led across the park to another enclosure. The keeper carrying Ford’s coat opened the side gate to the outside area of the enclosure and let Ford through. The other keeper removed the snare from around Ford’s neck, stepping rather quickly away from him. Its companion threw the jacket over to Ford, before the gate was shut and locked. They walked off, leaving Ford alone in the new enclosure. 

 

This one was significantly larger than his old one - at least twice the size, with a much larger pond at the far end. The main difference about this one was that it was divided into two separate areas. Half of the enclosure was outdoors, with a wire fence running around its perimeter. A large open doorway led to the other half, an area Ford could only describe as a very large, empty garage with a straw-lined floor. Inside, he found that he could access half of the building. In the corner, against the back wall, there was another shack, slightly larger than the one in the first enclosure and better constructed. It was made of bricks, this time, rather than dark orange wood. The door to this shack was considerably bigger than the little one on the shed in his old place. He pushed it open.

 

Inside, the first thing he noticed was that there was a light embedded in the ceiling. At least in here, he would be able to see during the night. The whole room was roughly the size of the downstairs bathroom back at home. The back third of the room was sectioned off by a brick wall with another door set into it. Pushing the door open (there was no handle), Ford found a small bathroom. It wasn’t anything like he’d had in his house back in Gravity Falls, but it was by far better than what he’d had in his old enclosure. Opposite the toilet, there was a proper sink. The man could have cried. It had been  _ years  _ since he’d had access to a proper,  _ human  _ bathroom. He knew he shouldn’t be so happy over a  _ toilet,  _ of all things, but he’d been here for almost six months now and hadn’t had anything like this. The floor in the other two thirds of the room was padded with straw, but at least this time the straw was clean. The stuff he’d been sleeping on in his old enclosure had started to smell and Ford hadn’t once seen the keepers change it. 

 

Stepping out of the shack, Ford looked around. To his right, the building was made up of brickwork roughly ten to eleven feet in height - not the sort of thing he’d be able to climb, by any means. The ceiling was made up of planks of wood, supported by beams jutting out from the wall. He couldn’t see the light from outside through the gaps in the wood and he assumed the roof must be tiled. There were lights built into the ceiling, too, illuminating the area below. Opposite the wall, there was a shoulder-height fence made of the same type of dark orange wood he’d seen before, running through the middle of the room. Between the top of the fence and the ceiling, there was more of the wire netting, preventing Ford from simply climbing over the fence and escaping. A second fence stood six inches behind the first, blocking anyone on the other side from reaching him properly. The floor inside the building was loosely coated in straw, patches of cement tiles showing through here and there. On the other side of the fence was a pathway, and the other brick wall of the building on the far side. Posters were plastered all over the wall, some of them with informations about and diagrams of humans on them, others that appeared to advertise other areas in the zoo. The path led from a set of double doors, across the building and around the corner. Ford could only assume that it allowed visitors to walk past to get a much better look at the human.

 

The man looked over as he heard a door open round the corner, excitable chatter echoing down the hall. He still couldn’t understand what they were saying, but by the sheer number of different voices he could make out, Ford assumed it was a tour group. His assumption was proved right as a keeper walked around the corner, talking to a large group of creatures, most of which were holding cameras of varying shapes and sizes. Once they rounded the corner, at least ten of the group started taking photos of Ford, the flashes from their cameras making him wince. He threw his arms up to shield his eyes from the light. A mixture of coloured spots danced in his vision and his head spun. He shut his eyes tightly, turning his back to the group. 

 

Once his eyes had recovered from the sudden exposure to bright light, Ford turned back around. A few of the smaller creatures were standing at the fence, holding thing out to him in the palms of their hands. The tour guide didn’t seem to have any objection to this. The objects the kids were holding out looked like crackers. Ford’s stomach growled hungrily and he carefully walked over to them, studying the offerings carefully. He wasn’t entirely happy to accept food from strange creatures, especially when he had no idea what it was or where they’d been. Standing in front of the youngest creature, judging by its size, Ford looked from the creature to the biscuit in its hand. The creature waved the biscuit at him enthusiastically and said something in its foreign language. Hesitantly, Ford took the biscuit from its hand and looked closely at it. 

 

It was just a cracker.

 

Ford put the corner of the cracker in his mouth and bit down, taking a small chunk off and chewing it carefully. It was slightly salty, with a faint black pepper taste to it. It was surprisingly more pleasant than he’d anticipated. He didn’t taste any sort of poison on it, so he shrugged and tossed the whole thing into his mouth. The child clapped and grinned happily, evidently pleased by the fact that Ford had accepted its gift. The other children moved closer to Ford, all waving their crackers at him. Ford took them one by one, smiling at each kid as he did so, before holding the crackers in his hands. He nibbled at them one at a time. He definitely preferred this enclosure to his old one.

 

The tour guide talked for a moment (Ford guessed it was about both himself and humans in general, as the guide kept gesturing towards the human) before leading the group out of the building via other set of double doors. Ford sat cross-legged in the straw, still nibbling his way through the crackers. They were a little dry, but they weren’t bad, all things considered. Once he’d finished them, he got up and walked back over to the shed. He went into the bathroom and turned the cold tap on, before bending down and sticking his mouth under the flow of water. The water from the tap had a very slight metallic tang to it but it was still infinitely better than the semi-stagnant water from the dish in the corner of his old living quarters. 

 

Ford wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sighed. He was still clueless as to how to get out of this place. Maybe there was some way of escaping in the outside area of his enclosure. He left the room and walked across the building, ignoring the few lingering visitors by the fence, and headed out into the sunlight. The air out here was much more fresh than it had been in his old enclosure. The area outside was covered in lively grass (Ford still had yet to figure out the nature behind its unusual colouration, but chalked it up to simply be different genetics to what he was used to on Earth) and there was a large, dark orange tree on one side. The leaves of the tree were black, providing a decent area of shade underneath its canopy. There was some sort of wooden structure beside the tree - an arrangement of logs and planks, leading up to a wooden platform built onto the side of the tree. Ford was reminded of the climbing frames he’d seen at the playground as a kid, and the similar types of structures he’d seen in big cat enclosures in Earth zoos. Hanging down from the platform was a thick knotted rope.

 

Looking further up, his heart sank. Just above the tree hung a net, covering the top of the enclosure and preventing him from climbing over the top of the fence. That ruled out any escape via the top of his enclosure. Maybe he could dig his way underneath the fence again? Over a hill to the east, Ford could see the far edge of the zoo - the entrance gates where numerous creatures were driving in and out in strange, almost spherical vehicles. The exit! If he could just get out and around to this side of the enclosure, he’d be able to run across the grass and climb the fence. He could finally be free! 

 

Ford’s mind was already buzzing. He finally had a halfway decent shot at getting the hell out of here. He’d finally be able to continue his research on Bill and be able to take him down! He’d already wasted six whole months of valuable time - he couldn’t afford to wait much longer. He decided he would try and get out when night fell and the keepers left for the evening. He’d be able to dig his way underneath the fence and escape. 

 

Hands shaking and mind racing, he went back inside. Another group of visitors was already at the fence and began taking photos of him as soon as he was in view. More kids held crackers through the bars towards him, shaking them around to try and gain his attention. Ford didn’t have anything better to do until it got dark, so he gratefully took them from the kids and started eating. A moment later, a keeper opened the gate in the fence inside the building and walked in, carrying a small bucket. He set a plastic tray down in the straw before reaching into the bucket, pulling out a handful of salad leaves and a piece of meat. It was still raw, Ford was disappointed to see, but at least he was still being fed the regular meals. Once the keeper had locked the gate behind them, Ford went over to the tray and sat down beside it, pulling it into his lap. 

 

Placing the crackers at the side of the tray, Ford picked up the lump of meat and gave it a sniff. After his last bout of food poisoning, he was going to be more careful with what he ate. It smelled perfectly fine, so he sunk his teeth into it and tore a piece off, a few small drops of blood dripping down his chin. The slightly rough, chewy texture of the meat was all too familiar by now. He had almost forgotten what normal Earth meats like chicken and pork tasted like, since it had been ten years since he’d had any. Taking another mouthful and putting the rest down, Ford picked up a couple of salad leaves, folding them up and eating them whole. The salad was less pleasant than the meat but he made himself eat it anyway. He was all too aware of the risks of not eating enough vegetables. He was surprised he didn’t have scurvy by now - whatever he’d been eating for the past ten years must have had some sort of source of vitamin C in it somewhere. He was still terribly malnourished. He made a resolution to himself for when he eventually got home to eat as many sweet things as he could within the first week.

 

Once he had finished his meal, he left the tray by the gate and got up. Heading back outside, Ford looked up at the platform in the tree, the rope beneath it swinging in the gentle breeze. It looked as though it gave a good view of the rest of the park and he was curious to find out what other creatures were being imprisoned in this place. He put his foot on the plank beside him and reached up to grab the rope. He jumped up and wrapped his ankles around the knot at the bottom, before he began to climb. Over the ten years he’d been on the run, he had built up plenty of upper-body strength, so climbing up this rope was easy. It took less than a minute for him to climb up the whole length of the rope and sit on the wooden platform. It was surprisingly more sturdy than what he’d expected - from the ground, it looked as though one wrong step would send him falling to the ground. He sat with his legs out in front of him, leaning back slightly with his hands by his hips. The view from the platform was remarkable. It looked over the exit of the zoo to a large, bustling city beyond. Lights twinkled in the windows of skyscrapers and large ships flew overhead. The whole scene looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.

 

When the suns began to set, Ford climbed back down the rope and headed inside. There were still visitors lingering around by the fence, obviously waiting for the human to show up so they could get pictures of him. Ford ignored them for the most part, but one creature (he recognised the species to be a Gromflomite) standing at the edge of the group was regarding him with particular interest. He resembled something halfway between a fly and a person, with large, compound eyes and green-grey skin. Ford couldn’t shake off the feeling that the guy wasn’t just visiting the zoo - he was here for a particular reason.

 

That particular reason being Ford himself.

 

Ford looked away from the Gromflomite slowly, heading over to sit by the shed in the corner of the building. He saw a keeper come into the building - obviously to get the remaining visitors to leave, as they all soon headed out. The Gromflomite took one last, long look at Ford before following the others out. The keeper left another piece of meat and some more salad on Ford’s tray, before locking the gate again and leaving the building. The sound of the doors being locked indicated to the human that access to his enclosure was now blocked. He got up and retrieved the food, sitting and eating it quietly. Once again, he left the tray beside the gate when he’d finished. 

 

Ford went into the bathroom in the shed, relieved himself, washed his hands and face at the sink before sitting down on the pile of straw. As he lay there, he still couldn’t shake the feeling he had about that Gromflomite. He felt like he recognised its face from somewhere (then again, Gromflomites were practically identical to each other), but he couldn’t put any of his twelve fingers on it. He shrugged slightly. He was bound to get visitors like that - he was in a zoo, after all. Maybe the guy was just a Biology teacher with a particular interest in humans as a species, the same way humans have particular interests in orangutans, snakes, whales and virtually every other species on Earth. Ford was sure that, if he was a visitor to a zoo and saw a Gromflomite within an enclosure, he’d be fascinated too.

 

He shook the thought off as simple paranoia and sat amongst the straw, waiting for it to get dark enough for him to be able to dig his way underneath the fence. He waited another two Earth hours before he determined that it was sufficiently dark outside. Getting to his feet, he headed out of the shack and made his way across the building to the door leading outside. Before he could get there, however, he halted in his tracks as a bright green disk appeared on the brick wall beside him. The same Gromflomite from earlier leapt out and immediately grabbed Ford in a headlock. 

  
“Hey! What the hell is your problem?!” Ford shouted, struggling furiously. The Gromflomite stuck something into one of the veins in Ford’s neck. Before Ford could react, they had down the plunger on the syringe, fully injecting the sedative into the human’s system. Ford felt himself go weak, his struggles becoming slower and less powerful. Eventually, he stopped fighting altogether, collapsing onto the ground. The Gromflomite tied Ford’s ankles together, his wrists together behind his back and gagged him. As Ford passed out, the Gromflomite shot something at the wall, where another green disk opened up, before it took the human and disappeared. 


	4. Two Heads Are Better Than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford is offered to help a strange, drunken scientist with the complicated equations behind a project. Luckily, that is what Ford does best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll with this thing. This chapter is probably longer than the other ones so far, but I got slightly carried away. I've had to change the tags, too, on account of new characters being introduced.

“Mmrrpph!” Ford let out a muffled cry as he was rather rudely awoken by a sharp bash to the head. He looked around to notice he appeared to be in the trunk of a car. Or a spaceship, at least. This was quite possibly one of the weirdest vehicles he’d been in before, and he was only seeing the inside of the trunk. He was still bound and gagged tightly. Whoever was driving must have hit a bump in the road as once again he was thrown upwards, his head colliding painfully with the door just above him. Something on his forehead split and soon Ford felt something warm and sticky running down his face. 

 

Ford struggled against the ropes keeping his wrists and ankles together. Even though he knew the trunks of cars (usually) weren’t airtight, he still felt like he was suffocating. He had never really liked small spaces, after being locked up in janitors’ closets, lockers and empty classrooms so many times as a kid. He looked around the trunk. He couldn’t see a damn thing, and since he couldn’t move, he couldn’t feel his way around either. He was laying on his side, the blood from his head dripping across his forehead, nose and getting into his eyes. He couldn’t tell which direction the vehicle was moving, or which direction he was facing. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Ford’s mind kicked into gear. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the light before squinting. He could make out the back lights of the car set into the wall.  Maybe if he bashed the light out, he’d be able to let enough light in to be able to find the lock. Ford pulled his head right back before slamming his forehead into it with as much force as he could muster. The light didn’t so much as crack - all that he succeeded in doing was cracking his head open further, sending fresh streams of blood running down his face. The blood matted his hair and soaked his face, getting into his eyes.

 

Right, that had been a bad idea. All he’d achieved by doing that was hurting himself and making himself dizzy. His ears were ringing. He now felt immensely sick. The gag keeping his mouth wedged open was only making things worse. Ford was unable to stop himself as his stomach lurched violently, causing him to vomit. The substance leaked around the side of the gag and soaked through into the car, filling the whole space with a horrific acidic smell. It stuck to his face and the foul scent burned his nose and made his eyes water. The bile stung his throat, feeling as though he’d swallowed small shards of glass. He continued to heave, the effects of the head injury causing him to expel his stomach contents. It was a horrendous situation and Ford only hoped that someone got him out of there as soon as possible. 

 

His wish came true ten minutes later, by which time he had stopped vomiting. He could hear footsteps. Ford flinched as someone hauled the trunk open and made a disgusted noise at the sight inside. Ford realised he must have looked a mess - he hadn’t washed himself properly in days, his forehead was bruised and badly bleeding and he was lying in a pool of his own vomit. His wrists and ankles had begun to bleed from his struggles. Despite his physical state, the figure hauled Ford up and out of the car, exclaiming in disgust once again at the state the man was in. 

 

Once he was hauled up, Ford suddenly felt much more lightheaded. His vision swam and he went limp in the hold of the figure. Before he could so much as determine whether the figure was human or not, his eyes slipped shut and he passed out, his mind drifted into blessed darkness. 

 

\---------------

 

The first thing Ford registered when he woke up again was that he was  _ freezing.  _ He hazily remembered that he'd left his jacket back in his enclosure and hadn't been able to grab it before that Gromflomite took him away. It hadn’t been as cold in the trunk since his body heat had kept him warm in the compact area (plus the vomit and blood had been warm). The second thing he registered was, when he opened his eyes, someone had put a sack over his head. He was still tied up and gagged, too, the fabric in his mouth still having a horrifically unpleasant taste and almost making him want to throw up again. The dried blood and vomit had been mostly cleared off his face, but he could still smell it and he noticed that it was still all over the top of his shirt. The third thing he registered was that he was being carried somewhere. 

 

He didn't have time to work out where he was before he was haphazardly thrown to the floor. His knees collided with the ground painfully, and a hand gripping the collar on the back of his shirt prevented him falling forward. He struggled weakly against whoever was holding him. His mind was still a blur and his head was spinning. 

 

“Alright, wha-urrp- what is it this time?” Ford froze in place. Not only was the voice speaking English, it was familiar. In his disoriented state, he couldn’t quite work out who it was, but he had definitely heard it before.

 

“We found this guy stuck in a zoo over on Arganine IV,” Another, unfamiliar voice replied. Ford felt someone grab the sack on his head and pull it off in one swift move. Ford blinked in the light for a moment, his eyes adjusting. A pair of boots appeared in his vision. The man looked up and his heart skipped a beat.

 

The man standing in front of him was incredibly thin - almost dangerously so. He made Ford look obese. He was dressed in brown pants, a turquoise sweatshirt and a white labcoat. Ford wasn't interested in what he was wearing, however. The man’s face was sallow and grey, his mouth set into a thin scowl. A small glob of saliva hung from his mouth. His hair was a wild pale blue mess.

 

Ford narrowed his eyes and grunted. Damn, not  _ this  _ guy again. He'd forgotten about him. He'd been so preoccupied with getting out of that damn zoo that he'd completely forgotten this insane scientist was after him.

 

The scientist snorted and crouched down in front of Ford. “Long time no - uurrpp - no see, Fordsy. You’re a mess”

 

Ford flinched and turned his head away. The guy's breath absolutely  _ reeked  _ of booze. He thought the smell alone would be enough to get him tipsy. It wasn’t helping his nausea, either.

 

The scientist put his hands on the back of Ford's head and untied the piece of fabric keeping him gagged. As soon as his mouth was free, Ford grit his teeth. He was glad to be relieved of the taste of his own vomit, but wasn’t happy with whom he was now facing.

 

“The hell do you want with me, Sanchez?”

 

The scientist snorted. “As if you don’t already know, P-uurp-Pines. You’re worth at least ten thousand schmeckles in this dimension. Do you have any idea how much money that is?”

 

Ford narrowed his eyes. “What do you think?!”

 

Sanchez shrugged. “I figured that, for a guy who had - uurrpp -  jumped through as many - uurp - dimensions as you would have wo-uur-rked that one out by now. That’s nearly two and a half million d-urp-dollars. You know what a guy could do with tha-uurp-at kind of money?”

 

“So what, you’re gonna hand me in and reap the benefits?” Ford spat, once again struggling to get free, trying to overcome the vertigo his body was still subjecting him to. He’d definitely have to get some medication for that soon. He pondered briefly as to whether this planet had Tylenol.

 

“See, I would, if it weren’t f-uurrp-for the fact that the Galactic Federation are after me too. That’s why I had Krombopulos here bring you to me b-uurp-before the Feds got you first.” Sanchez knelt behind him, fiddling with the binding keeping Ford’s ankles and wrists together. Ford looked over his shoulder to see the Gromflomite from earlier standing behind him. “You’re a fighter, P-uurp-Pines. A guy like me could use a g-uurp-guy like you.”

 

Ford was repulsed by just how much this guy kept burping. He must be heavily inebriated. As soon as he was free of the bonds, Ford launched himself at Sanchez, pinning him against the wall with one arm at the scientist’s throat. In a flash, the Gromflomite that had brought him here (apparently named ‘Krombopulos’) had the barrel of some sort of blaster against Ford’s temple.

 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Krombopulos said. “At least not until I get paid.”

 

Ford, under threat of being shot, backed down and put a hand against the wall. His sudden movement had aggravated his nausea and now he felt sick again. He lowered his head, taking long, slow breaths. As he looked up slowly, he saw Sanchez pass the Gromflomite a small sack with a symbol vaguely representing a dollar sign on it. Krombopulos gave a nod and a wave and left the room. 

 

The six-fingered man lowered his head again as he felt his stomach lurched. Putting both hands against the wall, he braced himself for the inevitable. Sure enough, he soon felt more bile rise in his throat, causing him to throw up against the wall. 

 

“Fuckin’ hell, Fordsy,” Sanchez leant casually against the wall, taking a flask from his labcoat pocket as Ford continued to vomit. “How much puke can one guy hold?”

 

Spluttering and spitting to get the last of the vomit from his mouth, Ford wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt and glared weakly at Sanchez. “Well if that Krombopulos guy hadn’t been such a bad driver, I wouldn’t have bashed my head so much!”

 

“Right, so you trying to headbu-uurp - headbutt the brake lights out was his fault?” Sanchez took a swig of whatever was in the flask before handing it to Ford.

 

Ford gave it a weary look. Judging by how drunk Sanchez seemed, that stuff must be strong. 

 

The scientist scoffed. “It’s just whiskey. Have some, it’ll make you feel less sick.”

 

Ford swallowed, still uncertain, but took the flask anyway. He put the mouth of the flask to his lips and took a quick sip. The sheer concentration of alcohol nearly set his throat alight, but he did admit it helped with the nausea. He took another swig before handing the flask back to Sanchez.

 

Tucking the flask back into his pocket, the scientist extended his hand. “I don’t believe we-uurp-we’ve formally met. Rick Sanchez,”

 

Ford shook the man’s hand. “Stanford Pines, but I guess you already knew that.”

 

“Course I uurp did, I know everyone.” Rick waved his hand around dismissively. “So you willing t-t-to help me or not?”

 

Ford crossed his arms and scowled. “How do I know you won’t backstab me?”

 

“Because I’m the one who wants something out of this.”

 

Ford was still sceptical. “Depends on a) what you want me to do do and b) what's in it for me.”

 

“Man, you get ri-uurp-right to the point, don’t’cha?,” Rick smirked. “If you help me, half o-uurp-of the rewards will be yours.”

 

Stanford raised an eyebrow. “Help you with what? You still haven't answered my first question.”

 

“Building something.”

 

Ford didn't move. “You will have to be more specific than just 'building something’. Building what? A Doomsday device? A death ray?”

 

Rick waved his hand around again, walking back and forth in front of Ford. “No, no, I - uuurrp - already know how to build that shit. I want a ship.”

 

“A ship?” Ford repeated. “Like a boat?”

 

“Ugh, no, like a ship ship, you idiot.” Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wait, what dimension are you from?”

 

Ford shrugged. “No idea. I've been through so many and even if someone had told me what dimension I was from originally, I can't remember.”

 

Rick held his tongue for a moment. This guy bore a strong resemblance to himself - jumping through so many dimensions he couldn't even remember which one was his. “Right, give me your - uurpp - hand.”

 

Ford took a step backwards. “What for? You’re not going to inject me with anything, are you?”

 

“Stop being so pa-aauurp-paranoid Fordsy,” Rick grabbed the man’s right wrist, holding it palm-up, and took out a small handheld device. There was a small panel sticking out of the front of it. Rick pressed the panel against the tip of Ford’s sixth finger. Ford felt a sharp prick before his finger started bleeding. Rick turned Ford’s hand over and dripped the blood onto the sensor on the device before letting go of Ford’s wrist.

 

Ford pulled his hand close to him. He wasn’t entirely happy with the fact that Rick had chosen to draw blood from his sixth digit - almost forty years of being bullied for it had made him rather wary of anybody touching it. He saw Rick fiddle with a dial on the device before pressing a small green button. The device beeped three times before something appeared on the display.

 

“You’re from Dimension 46’\,” Rick said nonchalantly. “Right, that’s useful information to know. If you rea-uurp-lly wanna know where I’m from, I’m from Dimension E-292. There’s a load of Ricks wandering around so don’t assume that the next time you see me it’ll be the real me, if you -uurp- know what I mean.”

 

“46’\” Ford repeated to himself. “Right, got it.”

 

“Also, if you - uurp - happen to come across Rick from Dimension C-137, be careful. That guy’s a fucking psycho.” Rick put the device back into his pocket and took out his flask, having another quick drink before putting it back. Pulling out what looked like some sort of blaster, Rick pointed it at the mess on the floor and pulled the trigger.

 

Ford watched in shock as the vomit was vaporized into nothing, only a small black burn mark being left behind. He hated to think what that thing could do if it was pointed at somebody.

 

The sound of Rick’s disappearing footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. “Right, no p-uurp-point wasting time talking, c’mon, follow me. You can get your-uurp-self cleared up at my place. You’re a mess.”

 

Ford looked down at his clothes. They were still splattered with blood and vomit and smelled foul. Cringing, he followed Rick out of the room. Through the door he’d been brought in through, Ford was surprised to see a perfectly normal car parked outside… wherever they were. It was a rusted old Toyota, the dark red paint barely visible underneath the years’ worth of corrosion, scratches, bumps, dents and general weather-worn damage. The seats were covered with grey leather upholstery and looked as though they had once been pristine and smooth. Now, at least a decade of full-time use had worn the seats down right to the foam underneath, the leather almost completely torn away. The hubcaps were smeared with grime and the probably-once-shiny paint chipped away. The driver’s side window had several noticeable chips in the glass, as if someone had shot at it from a distance with a gun. Considering the sort of guy Rick seemed to be, though, Ford wasn’t surprised.

 

By the time Ford had taken note of all the damage to the car, Rick was already sat in the driver’s seat and honking the horn impatiently. “Come on, Pines, we don’t have - uurp - all day!”

 

Ford shook his head quickly and got into the passenger side, pulling the belt over his chest and clipping it into place. He noticed that Rick didn’t have his seatbelt on. “Uh, Rick? Are you planning on dying today, or do you want to put your belt on?”

 

Rick scoffed and turned the engine on, immediately tearing off up the road. “Belts are overrated. If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna d-uurp-ie from either age or liver failure. Don’t care which.” By the way Rick was driving, Ford was quite frankly surprised the guy was still alive. He was not only driving at nearly twice the speed limit, he was weaving in and out of cars as though they were obstacles in an arcade game.

 

Ford gripped his seat tightly, his stomach threatening to empty itself again. “Sweet Moses! Slow down! You’re gonna kill us!”

 

Rick didn't seem to change his driving style at all. If anything, he sped up. “Calm down Pines, I ain't gonna - uurpp - kill us.”

 

“Well for pity's sake at least slow down. You shouldn't be driving while drunk, anyway.”

 

“I'm not drunk. I'm barely tipsy.” Rick retorted. He swerved violently around a corner and came to a very abrupt halt in the parking lot of a shabby-looking apartment block. The place was a mess. There was garbage piled under almost every window and strewn across the grass. Obscene graffiti was sprayed across the brick walls. Several of the ground floor windows were cracked - one or two completely broken. The lawn at the front of the building was overgrown and uncared for. Rick turned the car off and got out, gesturing for Ford to follow him.

 

As they went through the front door, Ford could hear a heated argument going on in one of the ground floor apartments, involving a lot of screaming and swearing. He cringed and picked up the pace a little. Rick was already standing by the elevator bank, his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently.

 

“Hurry up Sixer.”

 

Ford halted dead in his tracks. He immediately rushed forward and pinned Rick against the wall with one arm, forcing the scientist’s right eye open with his other hand. “Why’d you call me that?!”

 

Rick seemed rather unfazed by Ford’s actions and shrugged, but Ford noticed the scientist had a blaster pointed at his head. “You have six fingers, dumbass. Are you going to let me go, or do I have to shoot you?”

 

Ford dug through the pockets of his jeans and fished out a small pocket flashlight, shining the light directly into Rick’s eyes. The scientist flinched away from the light, but Ford released a deep breath of relief as he noticed that there was no yellow colouration to the man’s eyes.

 

“The heck was that for?!” Rick grunted, sticking the blaster back into the holster at his hip and jamming his thumb onto the elevator button.

 

“Sorry, force of habit.” Ford rubbed the back of his neck, disliking the uncomfortable situation he’d put them in. “I thought for a moment that… when you called me…. Never mind. Let’s just go.”

 

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You’re a shit liar, you know th-uurp-that right?”

 

Ford avoided his look and stepped into the elevator once it arrived. “Fine, I was checking your eyes to see if… if they were yellow.”

 

Rick stood beside him and pressed the button for the third floor. “Why the fuck would they be yellow?” He leant against the wall as the doors slid shut and the lift moved upwards.

 

Ford took a deep breath. “Ever heard of someone called Bill Cipher?”

 

“That triangular jerk? Yeah, what about him?”

 

“Well, when he possesses someone’s body, they look just like themselves apart from the fact that their eyes are bright yellow with black slits for pupils. I… I’ve got a past with him and he always used to call me ‘Sixer’, so I thought-”

 

“That I’d be stupid enough to make a deal with that guy?” Rick scoffed. “Wow, you give me no - uurp - credit at all, Fordsy.”

 

The elevator doors pinged open and Rick strode out, leaving Ford rushing to catch up. For someone so skinny and possibly inebriated, Rick moved surprisingly quickly. Maybe it had something to do with his long legs. Ford caught up to him outside a chipped pale blue door with the brass number ‘319’ nailed to the front. Rummaging around in his pocket for a moment, Rick dug out a key and unlocked the door, stepping inside and closing the door behind Ford.

 

Rick’s apartment was a mess, to say the least. Empty liquor bottles, beer cans, balls of paper, litter and dirty laundry covered the floor and half of the surfaces. A half-empty bottle of some sort of alcohol sat on the coffee table in the small living room. The whole apartment was tiny - barely the size of the enclosure Ford had spent the majority of his time in the zoo in. A TV was sitting on a stand in one corner of the living room, opposite a couch that was half-buried beneath a pile of paper, general rubbish and laundry. 

 

Ford was unclear of where he should sit, so he awkwardly perched himself on the arm of the sofa. Rick had disappeared into another room - presumably his bedroom - and emerged a moment later with an armful of clean clothes. He dumped them into Ford’s arms. “They’re too big for me, but they look like they might fit you. I reckon I could - uurp - always shoplift some if you needed.”

 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Uhh … thank you?”

 

Rick nodded, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb towards a small bathroom. “Go take a shower and get changed You reek. There’s a spare towel hang-uurp-ing on the side of the sink and there’s soap in the shower.”

 

Ford nodded and got up, heading into the small bathroom and locking the door behind him. The bathroom was in just as poor a state as the rest of the apartment - empty bottles of both bath products and liquor lying around. There was a small pile of dirty clothes in the corner and Ford was beginning to wonder if Rick had ever done laundry. He put the clean clothes on top of the toilet and started taking his own off. Once he’d stripped, Ford caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He was a wreck, his skin littered with new cuts and bruises on top of the old scars. His head wound had stopped bleeding, at least, but the blood had dried in his hair, making it stick up at awkward angles. The vomit had soaked through his shirt and was stuck to his chest and face, a few small bits still left in his hair. The swelling from the dislocated shoulder he’d acquired while trying to break down the enclosure gate had gone down considerably, but there was still some faint bruising. He was in desperate need of a good wash.

 

Turning on the water and stepping into the shower, Ford set about thoroughly scrubbing his hair clean. He relished in the hot water running over his body. For a moment, the soapy water ran read with dried and still slightly damp blood and vomit. Once the shampoo lathered in his hair, Ford rinsed his hair once before giving it a second wash. It had been years since he’d had access to any sort of shower and he was making the most of it. Satisfied that his hair was clean, he grabbed the washcloth hanging over the top of the shower door and scrubbed his face, trying with all his might to get the horrible dry fluids off his skin. He then thoroughly washed the rest of his body and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself in a towel.

 

Once he was dried and had changed into the clothes Rick had given him (a set of dark pants and a red turtleneck sweater - they actually fitted him pretty well, considering how skinny Rick was), he left the bathroom with his dirty clothes in his arms. “Rick?”

 

A grunt from the living room came Rick’s response.

 

“What should I do with my dirty clothes?”

 

“Leave ‘em - uurp - by the bathroom, we’ll sort them out later.” Rick got up from his chair and gestured for Ford to come over. He showed him over to a desk in the corner of the living room, where he pulled over two mismatched desk chairs. On the desk were several half-finished blueprints, showing all sorts of designs for various types of ships. Another set of blueprints showed some sort of internal mechanism, possibly an engine or some sort of similar power system. Plonking himself down in one chair, Rick gestured for Ford to sit in the other.

 

“Right, let’s get down to business.”


	5. Morning Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford contemplates Rick, himself and his brother. What is Rick hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just pure filler. I'm letting things chill for a bit before anything else big happens.

Producing the equations and blueprints needed for Rick's ship was the easy part of the job. These sorts of things Ford could do in his sleep with one six-fingered hand tied behind his back. Most of them were simple electrical equations - voltage, current, things like that. Getting the supplies and actually  _ building  _ the ship was the difficult part. Somehow, building the ship was more difficult than building the portal. It was much smaller, for a start, so all of the mechanics and engineering had to fit in a much smaller space. That was easier said than done when you were looking at the blueprints. In practice, there seemed to be wires flowing out of every possible place, circuit boards everywhere and bits of metal strewn haphazardly all over the garage floor. Rick had found an abandoned garage workshop just around the corner from the apartment block years ago and had been using it to store all his interdimensional junk.

 

The ship was taking a considerable amount of time to construct, longer than what Ford had anticipated. He’d been staying at Rick’s place for a week already and they’d barely started building the engine. Ford had been spending the nights on Rick’s couch, the mounds of junk that had once been on it having been relocated to the floor. The couch had a funny stale smell of alcohol and some sort of chemical. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was better than lying on the ground. Five out of the seven nights he’d been here, he could hear the bed in the apartment above him squeaking, accompanied by moans and gasps. The sounds of the frequent love-making going on in the floor above him kept Ford awake and quite frankly made him feel  _ very  _ uncomfortable. He had been tempted on more than one occasion to go upstairs to that apartment and asked them to try and calm down, but he would no doubt be met with a barrage of abusive language.

 

Maybe it was just his paranoia, but Ford had a feeling that the people in Rick’s apartment block didn’t care for their temporary resident. He had barely left the apartment, but on the few occasions on which he had ventured outside, he’d been met with shouts and obscenities, most of which centred around his birth defect. Despite the fact that he’d hidden his hands in his pockets or behind his back, the inhabitants had been quick to pick up on his deformity. The word that a six-fingered man was currently living with the drunk scientist had spread like wildfire and before he knew it, most of the people in the building knew about him. Now, every time he left Rick’s apartment, there was always somebody there to greet him with insults.

 

Ford was torn between understanding why Rick lived here, and wondering how the man could ever deal with these people for longer than a day. Once, while he’d been buying some groceries from the convenience store across the street, he’d heard people talking about him from the aisle next to the checkout. On his way back to Rick’s place, someone had thrown an empty beer bottle at him. The bottle had shattered upon impact with his shoulder, leaving fragments of razor-sharp glass embedded in his skin. He’d spent the better part of that afternoon picking the glass out of himself with a pair of tweezers and patching himself up, all the while with Rick’s loud profanity blearing in his ears. The scientist wasn’t exactly happy that one of his neighbours had injured the man helping him, and had let his thoughts be known. Ford had found it touching to say the least. 

 

Laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, was where Ford was now. He was engrossed in thought. On his off-hours from working on the ship, he frequently pondered on ways he’d be able to get home. Maybe Rick could help him. After all, the scientist had invented a device that allowed him to traverse dimensions at will, with the ability to return him home any time he liked. The device, appropriately named a ‘portal gun’, was a small, white device that looked like one of those barcode scanners cashiers used to scan the price of items in a store. It had a small green, glowing crystal on top which seemed to be the source of the toxic green portals the gun produced. Rick had used it numerous times throughout the first week to hop between dimensions to collect various materials for the ship. Ford reckoned, if he could figure out how to program it correctly, that he could use the device to get himself home.

 

The gun in itself was a mystery. Even more so was its inventor. Ford had little to no knowledge on who Rick really was, where he’d come from, what he was doing or even how old he was. Rick had said that his Dimension C-137 counterpart was a legend amongst the Council of Ricks, leading Ford to question just what C-137 Rick had done to earn such a title. His own Rick, of Dimension E-292, was rather reluctant in disclosing any information about himself. Ford had shared a lot of his own personal details with the scientist - excluding the majority of his childhood - and had expected Rick to reciprocate the gesture. Instead, he’d only been given a brief response, saying that Rick had gone through so many dimensions and done so many things that he simply couldn’t remember his origins any more. Ford had thought he was bullshitting, but hadn’t pressed on any further. He told himself that he had no right in asking Rick for all his personal details when he had only known the man a week. He was sure Rick would reveal his secrets in due course, anyway. 

 

Ford then thought about himself. Rick had said that he was only one of countless Ricks in the multiverse. Were there other Fords, too? Was Ford of Dimension 46’\ simply one of hundreds of Fords, too? Was there a Ford in Dimension C-137, or E-292 as well? What about a Ford in any of the dimensions 1’\ to 45’\, or did they simply not exist? Were there any Fords who were master criminals, or Fords whose corresponding Stans  _ hadn’t  _ ruined their science projects. Ford wondered if there was a dimension where he had gone to West Coast Tech after all, and not been landed in Backupsmore. He could have made something great out of himself. Instead, he’d spent many nights during his college years purging his college dorm of cockroaches, rats and other such vermin. Maybe, in the West Coast Tech-successful dimension, he’d have never met Fiddleford. Ford had always wondered what a genius like McGucket was doing in a shabby, below-average college like Backupsmore anyway. Had he had a similar stroke of bad luck as Ford? Perhaps, in that dimension, the two would still have crossed paths, be it at an earlier or later date.

 

Ford also wondered if there was a dimension anywhere where Bill Cipher didn’t have any sort of power. Rick had informed him that the dream demon was known by many names across hundreds, if not thousands, of dimensions. From Isosceles the Irritating to The Triangular Terminator, Bill had been given many different titles. However, no matter what his name was, if one were to mention the name ‘Bill Cipher’, nine times out of ten, the response would be one of both horror and understanding. Ford sincerely hoped that at least somewhere in the multiverse, there was a dimension that was ignorant to Bill, or had yet to become aware of the dream demon’s intentions of destruction. 

 

Ford rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable on the couch. It wasn’t easy for him to sleep with Rick’s thunderous snores reverberating through the wall and echoing inside his skull. The constant level of alcohol in the scientist’s system caused him to snore like a freight train. Ford was usually quite a heavy sleeper, life in storm-prone Oregon conditioning him to be able to sleep through a hurricane, but on occasions Rick’s snoring was too loud. Jamming a cushion over his ears, Ford shut his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

 

After a hour, though, he was still unsuccessful. Looking over at the small digital clock next to the TV, Ford figured that, at five A.M, it wasn’t worth trying to get any more shut-eye. Hauling himself out of the cocoon of blankets he had made, he flattened down his hair and got up, heading into the small bathroom to freshen himself up. Once he had done so, Ford headed into the kitchen to get himself some breakfast. Since staying at Rick’s place, he had been the one to do not only the washing up, but the cooking and laundry too. Rick seemed incapable of boiling water without burning it. The scientist often splashed money (Ford didn’t know where he was getting it and was quite frankly too worried to ask) on takeaway food of various origins, not only the standard Chinese, Indian and Italian, but all sorts of foods from all sorts of dimensions. Ford had grown quite fond of the pizza Rick bought from the Gromflomites’ planet. It was a strange blue colour, but had a wonderful flavour of a mixture of cheeses, cured and cooked meats and all sorts of other toppings. Rick himself preferred the curries the Gazorpazorps made, but didn’t object to the pizza. Ford hadn’t actually cooked all that much, since they’d been eating takeaway so often, and he was beginning to worry about his health.

 

Fishing out a clean bowl, the milk from the fridge and the box of cornflakes, Ford poured himself some breakfast. He looked over at the sink, where last night’s dirty dishes sat stacked in a pile. He made a mental note to clean those once he’d finished eating. It was quite frankly a miracle that Rick hadn’t been crushed beneath the mounds of filthy laundry, dirty dishes and piles of litter strewn about the apartment. The amount of mould growing on things was an increasing concern to Ford. Who knew what kind of interdimensional parasites were present? Maybe Rick had just developed an immunity to such diseases over time. 

 

Ford sighed. As much as he liked the fact that he was no longer on the streets, he couldn’t wait to be out of this place. He had a commitment, though, to stay with Rick until the ship was complete. He couldn’t just bail out on the scientist after he’d liberated him from that zoo. He probably owed the guy his life and Ford had never been the sort of person to con someone like that. He’d never dream of taking advantage of someone’s hospitality (as limited as Rick’s may be) and then simply running off. Ford was nothing like his brother.

 

_ His brother… _

 

Damnit, he was thinking about Stanley again, wasn’t he? Ford cursed himself. He knew he’d have to get over his brother one day, but the thought of his twin never seemed to leave him alone. Whenever Ford was alone with his thoughts, Stan often drifted back into them like some sort of homing device. He figured it was natural. He’d never been away from his twin for so long before, especially without any form of contact. Sure, he hadn’t seen his brother for ten years after the science fair fiasco, but at least then he’d had some way of contacting his brother. Even though Stan had been on the move a lot and didn’t have any permanent address or telephone number, he’d still managed to get the postcard through to him. That was something, at least. 

 

Now, though, Ford’s ability to contact his brother was practically non-existent. Not only did he have no access to any means of communication through another dimension, he had no idea if Stanley was still in Gravity Falls or if he’d skipped town after his brother’s disappearance. Heck, Stan probably thought Ford was dead. There was no way Stan could know what that portal did, where it led or what lay behind it. Ford had almost predicted that he would die as soon as he landed in the Nightmare Realm, but he’d been lucky enough to survive. He dreaded the possibility that something from Bill’s dimension had made it into Gravity Falls, or even worse, some _ one.  _ Ford simultaneously wanted to go home and wanted the portal to remain shut forever. He couldn’t risk anything from Bill’s world making it into Gravity Falls.

 

Placing his spoon into the empty bowl, Ford quietly rose from the table and went over to the sink. He figured he may as well start on the dishes so at least they had some clean ones for later in the day. No doubt Rick would be straight into eating as soon as he got up. Putting his own dirty dish on the side, Ford put the bowl in the sink and ran some hot water into it, adding a splash of washing up liquid into it and grabbing the sponge. He diligently worked his way through the mound of dishes on the side, leaving the clean ones on the draining board on the left. Once he’d cleaned all the dishes and cutlery, he tipped the dirty water out and grabbed a tea towel. One by one, the clean and dry dishes, knives, forks and spoons made their way back to their respective cupboards and drawers. 

 

By the time Ford had finished, it was pushing seven A.M. His hands had turned wrinkled from the prolonged exposure to the water and they were uncomfortable to touch. Drying off his hands, Ford hung the tea towel back up on the rack and went to get some clean clothes. Rick had managed to “acquire” some spare shirts, sweaters, jackets and trousers for Ford to wear, since the majority of Rick’s clothes were not only too small around the waist and shoulders, but far too long on Ford. Ford’s clothes sat in a neat pile on the floor at one end of the sofa. Grabbing a clean shirt and pair of trousers, along with underwear, Ford headed into the bathroom to take a shower. He always made sure to keep the bathroom door locked when he went in, ever since Rick, in a drunken stupor, had walked in on Ford having a shower. The scientist had apologised (although not without profanity) and immediately shut the door, but Ford wanted to avoid another such encounter if at all possible. He knew Rick wouldn’t be awake just yet, anyway.

 

Locking the bathroom door and stripping himself of his clothes and the bandages on his shoulder, Ford turned on the water and stepped into the shower. The hot water worked miracles on his aching back (sleeping on the sofa for the past week had given him some terrible cramps). He tilted his head back and let the water run over his chest. Rolling his head around on his shoulders in a slow circle, Ford gently massaged out the cricks and tight spots in his neck, earning a satisfying crack from each one. He then put his head right forward, letting the hot water rush over his spine. The water stung the cuts on his shoulder, though, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with.Spending longer than he really needed to, Ford washed himself thoroughly and got out, turning the shower off. The change in temperature between the hot water in the shower and the cool air in the bathroom made him start to shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin and the hairs on his arms and legs sticking up.

 

Rubbing himself down with the towel hanging over the sink, Ford got himself dressed (he couldn’t be bothered to redo the bandages) and left the bathroom. He could still  hear Rick’s loud snores from down the hall, indicating that the scientist was still fast asleep. Ford was surprised the guy wasn’t constantly hungover from the sheer amount of alcohol he drank on a daily basis. He’d found bottles upon bottles of the stuff in Rick’s kitchen cupboards while searching for ingredients for a meal. He was pretty sure Rick had a stash underneath his bed, too. It wouldn’t surprise him. Rick was always drinking out of his flask and Ford frequently saw him with a bottle in his hands. The guy’s liver was probably damaged beyond any hope of recovery by now. Ford, on the other hand, barely touched the stuff on account of his remarkably low alcohol tolerance. The first (and only) time he’d been drunk, Stan had caught him singing “Yellow Submarine” by the Beatles in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist and singing into a hairbrush as if it were a microphone. Stan had taken a good few Polaroids had been taken before Ford had realised what was going on. After that, he’d strictly avoided any sort of alcoholic drink.

 

Leaving his dirty clothes in the wash basket beside the machine (he made a mental note to do the laundry later that day), Ford dumped the used bandages in the trash and usied himself by picking up the remains of last night’s takeaway, chucking the rubbish away and storing the leftovers in the fridge. His mother had always made the twins clear up after eating, or playing, or building, or doing crafts or whatever it was the pair had been up to. Whenever they’d helped with the cooking, their mother had taught them to always store leftovers for another meal and never to waste food if there was enough for another helping. Old habits died hard. 

 

Around nine thirty, Rick’s bedroom door opened, revealing the scientist in nothing but a pair of boxers and a plain white T-shirt. He grunted something along the lines of “good morning” towards Ford before heading straight into the bathroom. Ford left the man to it, taking the full trash bags and leaving the apartment. He walked down the hall, down all three flights of stairs to the ground floor and outside towards the dumpsters. Throwing the bags into the dumpsters in the parking lot of the apartment block. Ford dusted off his hands and headed back inside. By the time he got back, Rick was just leaving the bathroom, his hair dripping wet and a dressing gown tied around him. He had dark bags underneath his eyes and still reeked of alcohol. “Where’d you go?”

 

“I took the trash out,” Ford jerked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the now-clean living room. “It was starting to stink. There was some stuff left so I put it in the fridge.” 

 

Rick shrugged and headed into the kitchen. “You’re such a mama's boy.”

 

Ford simply shrugged. “Well it’s either that or chuck it outside for the rats to eat. There’s enough for at least another meal, anyway.”

 

Rick yanked the fridge open with more force than necessary, hunting for something to eat. Eventually settling on a handful of cold spring rolls (they’d had Chinese last night, taking a break from any of the interdimensional stuff), he plonked himself down in a chair and started eating. Ford filled the kettle with water and set it on to boil, grabbing two mugs and dumping some coffee powder into both. He added extra to his mug. Since his college days, Ford had had his coffee strong and black with no sugar. Stanley, on the other hand, had his with enough milk and sugar to send Willy Wonka into a diabetic coma. Ford had tried some of his brother’s coffee once and had nearly been sick. 

 

By the time the kettle had boiled and Ford had made the coffee, Rick was digging through the fridge again. “Hey, Fordsy, there ain’t any of that pizza stuff left from Tuesday, is there?”

 

“Yeah, bottom shelf,” Ford replied, adding a splash of milk to Rick’s mug placing the coffee mugs down on the table. He sat down opposite Rick’s seat and cupped his own mug in his hands. “There’s three slices left.”

 

Rick took a slice out and shut the fridge. He sat opposite Ford again. “Thanks for the coffee.”

 

Ford nodded, taking sips of his own drink. He rolled his eyes as he noticed Rick add a splash of some sort of booze to his coffee. “Seriously? You’re going to get liver cirrhosis or something from the amount of alcohol you drink.”

 

Rick just shrugged, a bit of pizza cheese stuck to his bottom lip. “Don’t care. I can just get a rep-uurp-placement.”

 

“I doubt they’ll give you a transplant if you’re just going to ruin it again.” Ford pointed out. 

 

“I know a guy.” Rick stated simply. Swallowing the last of his pizza, he got up from the table and wiped his mouth off. He downed the rest of his coffee in one go and left the kitchen, heading into his bedroom to get dressed.

 

Ford sighed and stared into the swirling depths of his mug. The progression of the ship was slow, much slower than he’d have considered reasonable. They were barely finished with the engine and hadn’t so much as started on anything else. They had the blueprints for the gearbox, exhaust system, hydraulics and other mechanics, and had a rough idea of what the chassis and bodywork was going to look like, but had barely gotten any further than that. At this rate, Ford calculated it would take at least another six months to get the ship completed, and that was if they worked at the same pace. More than likely Rick would drift off schedule and they’d be delayed even further. The scientist, even though he was the one who wanted the ship, seemed to have little to no desire to actually work on it. It frustrated Ford whenever he was working on the ship and Rick would just get up and leave, often not returning for an hour at least. Only occasionally did Rick ever actually do anything. Most of the time, he sat in the corner of the garage and told Ford what to do, then call Ford a moron if he got something wrong.

 

Ford sighed and took a large swig of his coffee. He eyed the flask Rick had left on the table. Picking it up, he shook it gently. It was half-full. Ford unscrewed the cap and gave it a quick sniff. Whatever in there was  _ strong,  _ to say the least. He put the mouth of the flask to his lips and took a quick drink. It was actually rather pleasant, not the burning, acrid taste he had expected. He took another couple of drinks before putting the flask down, already beginning to feel tipsy. He finished off his coffee just as Rick emerged from his bedroom fully-dressed and smelling of aftershave.

 

“Ri-uurp-right,” Rick grabbed the key to the garage. “Let’s go.”

 

“You’re not going to bail out on me, again, like you did yesterday, are you?” Ford raised an eyebrow. “Considering this is  _ your  _ ship I’m building, you don’t seem to be particularly enthusiastic about it.”

 

“Calm your tits Pines,” Rick shot the man a look. “We’re way behind schedule and you keep fucking up, erg-uurp-o I’m actually gonna do something today.”

  
“I hope so,” Ford muttered, following the man out of the apartment. 


	6. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the engine finished, Rick treats Ford and himself to a meal at a local bar. Nothing is ever smooth sailing, however...

Ford was surprised to find that Rick stuck to his word. They worked for six hours straight without eating, the whole time the scientist helping Ford construct the engine. With the pair working together all morning and part of the afternoon, the engine was completed by four PM. By this time, both men were covered in grease and oil and were starving. Ford hadn’t eaten since five that morning, Rick since nine thirty. The engine sat on the workbench, fully assembled and ready to be fitted into the ship when it was constructed. 

 

Ford wiped his forehead with an oily hand. He was exhausted and looked as though he was about to collapse. “Right, now what?”

 

“Now,” Rick stated, leaning against the workbench and doing a final check over the blueprints to make sure they had built the engine properly. “We go and - uurp - get cleaned up and go out for something to eat.”

 

Ford looked at him. “So you’re not ordering takeaway this time?”

 

“Nope,” Rick pushed himself up and started heading out the garage. “We’re going to the bar in Millbrook street.”

 

Ford looked concerned. “I don’t drink. You might, but I don’t.”

 

Rick gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t be such a p-uurp-pussy. One beer won’t kill you. ‘Sides, I’ve seen you sneak drinks from my flask before.”

 

Ford couldn’t argue with that. “Fine, one beer.”

 

The pair left the garage and walked back around the corner to the apartment block. Outside, standing around the dumpsters by the side of the building, there were several young men smoking something Ford knew weren’t cigarettes. They had numerous cans of alcoholic drinks with them. Ford stuck his hands in his pockets and kept his head down as he passed, picking up the pace and sticking close to Rick. He recognised one of the men as the one who had hit him with the bottle the other day. The group stared at them as they walked past.

 

Ford breathed a sigh of relief once he and Rick stepped into the elevator. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He had grease and oil stains all over his face and his clothes - ones that would have likely ruined the fabric. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows all day and his forearms were coated in the black liquid too. Rick wasn’t much better - the man’s grey-blue hair streaked with oil and his labcoat marked with dirty handprints. They both needed to get cleaned up and changed.

 

Rick was the first to use the shower, while Ford scrubbed at his arms and hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink. The old shirt he’d been wearing was ruined, so he tossed it aside to use it again the next time they worked on the ship. His jeans had miraculously escaped the oil stains and had remained quite clean. As soon as Rick was out of the bathroom, Ford took the opportunity to get himself cleaned up. He washed his hair several times until he was convinced all the oil was out of it. He changed into a clean, fresh shirt and a pair of smart trousers, his hair combed to the left. Rick was wearing quite possibly the smartest thing he owned - a crisp blue button-up shirt and dark jeans. Ford could have sworn the man had tried to tame his wild mess of hair - it looked slightly less mad for once.

 

The pair exited the apartment and Rick drove them across town towards the bar. Ford thought it was slightly amusing that they had at least tried to dress smartly, yet they were still driving in the heap of old junk that barely qualified as a car. It made this awful rattling noise whenever it went above thirty, which - considering Rick’s driving style - was all the time. Ford briefly wondered if he would have to be the designated driver of the night, since it was practically guaranteed that Rick would be shitfaced within an hour. His limited experiences of bars and drinking in general had taught him that when people said they would go for ‘one drink’, one drink led to three, which led to ten which eventually led to them being taken into police custody for being drunk and disorderly. Ford suspected that Rick would end up getting into a fight tonight with at least three of the bar’s patrons.

 

Rick screeched to a halt in an empty space in the bar’s parking lot and got out, locking the car as soon as Ford had climbed out. Ford still thought it was a miracle he hadn’t died yet with the way Rick drove. The bar wasn’t as run-down as Ford had expected it to be. It was an old building which must have been refurbished at some point, judging by the distinct difference in brickwork halfway along one wall. Half of the windows were stained glass, depicting scenes of field and mountains, while the other half were covered by shutters. Three large chimneys stood on the roof, spewing smoke out into the evening sky. The main entrance was a large, solid wood door with a huge, old-fashioned doorknob on the side. Rick pushed the door open and went inside, Ford following closely behind.

 

The bar was alive with chatter, most of the booths along the sides of the walls packed with people. Several small, round, wooden tables filled the main floor and the bar itself ran along the opposite wall to the door. A couple of people turned to look at the newcomers, but they were ignored for the most part. Ford looked over to see Rick already standing by the bar, ordering drinks. The six-fingered man stood beside him, drumming his fingers on his leg nervously. He could feel more than one pair of eyes on the back of his head. 

 

“What do you want to drink?” Rick muttered to him, his eyes scanning the list of drinks. He pushed the drinks menu over to Ford. 

 

Ford looked over the piece of card in front of him, trying to decide what had the least amount of alcohol in it. It would be plain embarrassing if he let himself get drunk in front of everyone. “I’ll have a pint of Blueberry Ale,” He said quietly. He still wasn’t comfortable drinking alcohol, but at least something like ale had a reasonably low alcohol content. If he made the one pint last the whole time, he wouldn’t get drunk.

 

Rick nodded and looked over at the bar attendant. “I’ll have a pint of Blueberry Ale and a Jack and Coke,”

 

The barman nodded. “Right, that’ll be five bucks,” he replied. Rick passed over a five-dollar bill and the barman started pouring the drinks. The pair took their respective beverages and sat down at a table. Ford kept looking around at the other customers. Most of the people in the bar seemed to be men their age, some with families and some on their own. He sipped his drink and looked over the table at Rick, who was busy adding small swigs of drink from his flask into the glass on the table.

 

“You should have ordered something stronger if you were just going to add more booze to it,” Ford smirked, looking over the menu.

 

“There’s nothing available in any bar on Earth that’s as - uurp - strong as I want it,” Rick retorted, letting his own lips curl up into a slight smirk. He showed the flask to Ford. “Want some?”

 

Ford put a hand up in defense. “No thanks. I’ll be utterly shitfaced within an hour if I add anything to mine. I’ll pass.”

 

The scientist shrugged and took a subtle swig from the flask before tucking it back into his pocket. He picked up another copy of the menu and had a look. “Suit yourself. Someone’s gotta be sob-uurp-ber to drive me home.”

 

Ford chuckled. “You’d better not get pissed.”

 

“Bite me,” Rick hid his smirk behind his glass, taking a drink of his partially-altered Jack and Coke. The man opposite him rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. The Blueberry Ale was sweet and not too strong. Ford could taste the alcohol in it, but it wasn’t enough to get him drunk, thankfully. He had a sneaking suspicion that Rick was going to spike his drink at some point during the evening.

 

A waitress came over to them a moment later, with a small notebook and a pen in her hands. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?” She was a rather curvy young woman, with flowing blonde hair and sky blue eyes. Ford found himself staring at her chest, despite the nagging voice in his mind telling him it was rude to stare.

 

Rick raised an eyebrow and coughed, snapping Ford out of it. Ford flushed crimson and looked away, having another quick look at the menu. “Yeah, I’ll have the well cooked grilled steak and sweet potato fries with salad, thanks.”

 

“I’ll have the chilli burger and fries,” Rick said. The waitress nodded, writing down both orders and hurrying off. She disappeared through a door behind the bar and Ford caught a glimpse of the kitchens beyond.

 

“Nice going with the staring there, Romeo,” Rick commented, taking another sip of his drink.

 

Ford coughed, his face still bright red. “Shit, it was that obvious, huh?”

 

Rick scoffed. “You looked like you’d just seen a pot of gold.”

 

Ford put the menu up in front of him, ducking down to hide his face. “Not my fault she’s hot.”

 

“I’ve seen better,” Rick said nonchalantly. “The chicks on Threonine VIII are much better looking. Fuckin’ intellig-uurp-gent, too.”

 

Ford put the menu down and laid back in his chair, the colour fading from his face. “I don’t know what I was even thinking. I’ve never had any luck with relationships.”

 

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a girlfriend?” Rick put his glass down, giving Ford a look. “What the fuck?”

 

Ford shrugged and held his left hand up, expanding all six fingers. “These didn’t really help. I had a bit of a reputation at school for being a freak. Girls would take one look at me and walk off. I tried talking to a girl on prom night and ended up with a glass of punch dumped over my head.”

 

Rick shrugged as Ford picked up his glass again. “Maybe you don’t swing that way.”

 

Ford choked on his drink, nearly dropping the glass on the floor. He hastily put it back on the table, bent over and coughed furiously into his sleeve, turning bright red again. Rick smirked, amused, and took a long, slow sip from his own glass. “I’m just saying.”

 

Ford sat up straight. “How the hell would you know?” He asked indignantly.

 

Rick shrugged and set his glass back on the table. “I’m just guessin’. If you seem to have b-uurp-bad luck talking to women and have never had a girlfriend, maybe you don’t like chicks?”

 

Ford stared at the table, avoiding Rick’s eyes. He’d never really thought about it before. He just assumed that, cause almost every other boy in his year at high school had a girlfriend, he had to have one too. “I dunno, I’ve never really felt particularly strongly towards  _ anyone,  _ regardless of gender.” He confessed. He wasn’t lying, either. He’d never felt the need for a relationship.

 

Rick took another drink from his glass. “Each to their own I guess.”

 

Ford was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of the food they’d ordered. The waiter set down the plates of food on the table, wished them a good evening and left. Rick grabbed the bottle of ketchup off the table and poured some onto his plate. Ford cut through his steak to see if it was cooked properly. It was brown all the way through. Cutting off a small piece, he chewed it slowly. Rick, on the other hand, ate most of his dinner with his hands. Ford raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

 

Rick shrugged and continued shoveling food into his mouth. “I’m hungry.”

 

“So am I, but that’s no excuse to eat like a pig.” Ford retorted. He found himself eating more quickly, though, as his stomach kept growling. Over the course of his meal, Ford finished his glass of ale. He’d started to feel tipsy, so he hadn’t ordered another one.

 

Half an hour and two plates of food later, the pair were satisfied. A waiter came over to them with the bill. It came to a total of thirty-eight dollars. Rick paid for the whole lot, left a two-dollar tip and the pair headed out. As they got to the door, Ford could hear shouting and swearing coming from outside. Just to the left of the main entrance, in the parking lot, three tall and rather muscular adult men were laughing and shouting. They were drunk. Ford cast them a quick glance and swiftly followed Rick back over to the car. He bumped into something solid and fell to the floor. He heard the sound of something shattering on the floor. A fourth man, wearing a black leather jacket, was standing in front of him, staring at a broken beer glass on the ground, the liquid spreading out into a puddle. Ford quickly apologised, got to his feet and tried to hurry off. 

 

A firm hand grasped his arm and yanked him back. “You made me drop my beer.” A rough voice snarled in his ear.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Ford stuttered. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll pay for a new one for you.”

 

The man clicked his fingers. The three other men, who had seen what happened, walked over and surrounded Ford. They were all at least a foot taller than he was and, by the looks of things, much stronger. “I don’t want a new one.”

 

Ford swallowed hard. From the corner of his eye, he could see Rick getting into his car. The scientist evidently hadn’t noticed what had happened. The men standing around him stepped closer, enclosing Ford in a tight space. They all had tattoos up and down their arms. The man holding Ford clenched his other hand into a tight fist.

 

“L-look, I don’t want any trouble. Just let me go and I’ll be out of your way.” Ford stuttered. He was being reminded of all the encounters he’d had with Crampelter and his goons back at school. He knew something like this shouldn’t bother him at his age, but right now he was terrified. His head was spinning, derailing his train of thought.

 

A sharp blow to his solar plexus knocked the wind clear out of him. Ford doubled over, clutching his stomach and gasping. He barely had time to recover before he received a strong uppercut to his jaw, knocking his head back forcefully and sending him crashing to the ground. He looked over towards the car to see Rick standing beside it, watching the scene with interest. He shot the scientist a desperate look before one of the men kicked him square in the face, breaking his glasses and his nose. 

 

Ford was knocked onto his back. He scrambled weakly to his feet and tried to make a break for it. Two of the men grabbed his arms and held him back. He could see Rick marching over towards them, drawing something out of a holster at his hip. ‘ _ Rick, now is not the time for drinking!’  _ Ford thought furiously. The alcohol in his system was making him dizzy.

 

A searing, sharp pain erupted in the right side of Ford’s ribcage. He let out a cry of pain, his eyes screwed shut. The men promptly released him and took off running. Ford could hear the sounds of shots being fired towards them, someone crying out in pain, the sound of footsteps rushing towards him. He could barely comprehend what was going on above the agony in his side. He reached a shaking hand round to touch his side. His hand came away red with blood. Something clicked at the back of Ford’s mind. He’d been stabbed. One of those bastards had stabbed him. His hands grasped at the wound and he tried to get up. His vision was turning hazy. His head was spinning. Oh God, he was going to die, wasn’t he?!

 

And then Rick was there, knelt beside him and pressing both of his hands against Ford’s injury. He was barking orders at somebody. The patrons of the bar must have heard Ford scream, or the argument going on outside. Somebody was running off. Maybe they were going to find a phone. There were murmurs around him, but all Ford could hear was Rick repeating something to him. “Damnit Stanford look at me!”

 

Ford turned his head weakly, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. Rick’s face was blurred, but it was him alright. “R-Rick…?” Oh God his voice was so weak. He was so quiet. It hurt just to breathe.

 

“That’s it, Ford. Keep talking to me. You can’t p-uurp-pass out yet, okay?” Rick ordered, yet Ford could hear his voice shaking. 

 

Ford tried to push himself up again. Rick put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Don’t even think about getting up, Pines.” He grunted. “You’ll make it worse.”

 

“Th-the hell happened?” Ford was afraid to ask, even though he already knew the answer. Part of him hoped that he was just drunk and he was only imagining it. He couldn’t have been stabbed, could he? No, he was just drunk. He hadn’t been injured - 

 

“You were stabbed, dumbass.” Rick retorted. Oh. Was that…  _ worry  _ in the scientist’s voice? “One of those bastards stuck a knife into your side. What the hell did you do?!”

 

“I b-bumped into him… he dropped his beer…” Ford mumbled. He clutched at his side, still trying to stop the bleeding. He felt Rick increase the pressure on his wound. He was still bleeding profusely. His head hurt.

 

“You’re such a fucking idiot, y-you know that?!” Ford felt something wet hit his cheek. Rick’s voice was cracking and shaking. “Damnit Ford talk to me!” Rick sounded like he was panicking. That… that couldn’t be right, could it? Rick was never worried about anything.

 

“Wh...wha…?” Ford could barely form full words by now. His vision was swimming even more. He could vaguely make out the sound of a siren wailing in the distance. He felt Rick shift positions again, increasing the pressure on his side for the second time. Ford could feel the hot, sticky blood drenching his clothes. The whole of the right side of his body felt like it was burning. He was shaking violently now. Something hot was rising in his throat and, at first, Ford thought it was vomit. He started coughing weakly. His mouth was filled with the taste of iron. 

 

He could hear Rick shouting at him, but couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He felt the scientist take a hand off his side and grasp Ford’s left hand. Rick squeezed his hand tightly. For managed to muster up enough strength to weakly squeeze back. He could still hear sirens. Something was running down the sides of his mouth. Rick was still shouting at him. More wet droplets hit his face. The sirens were getting louder. His head was spinning and he was so  _ tired… _

 

Ford coughed again. It was getting harder to breathe now. He was gasping desperately for air. He could still taste iron. His eyelids felt so heavy. He forced himself to keep them open, but it was no use. Everything around him went black. He knew that was bad, but he was too tired to care. Rick was screaming at him now… he felt the scientist squeeze his hand again…. He couldn’t squeeze back… he was so tired…. The sirens were gone… he heard people running… other voices…

 

He was being moved…

 

Rick was still there…

 

_ ‘FORD! DAMNIT, FORD!’ _

 

“R...Rick….”

 

His world went silent.


	7. Mutual Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford wakes up in the hospital only to discover Rick's been drinking more than normal. Ford isn't the only one who's worried about the other's health.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

 

_ … _

_ … _

 

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

 

_ “I don’t care if he hasn’t got any medical records! Make some!!” _

 

_ “Mr Sanchez, please, calm down. We’re doing everything we can to -” _

 

_ “Well you’re not doing enough!” _

 

_ …. _

 

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

 

_ H… huh…? Wh….what… where am I…? _

 

_ “Mr Sanchez, if you can’t behave in a dignified way, I’m afraid I shall have hospital security remove you from the premises and you will not be allowed back in to visit your friend.” _

 

_ I’m… in a hospital…? _

 

Ford heard a door open to his left and somebody walk in. The door clicked shut behind them. There were footsteps getting closer, followed by the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor towards his right. The noise stopped right beside him. Someone was muttering under their breath, every twenty words or so punctuated with a quiet belch. Ford couldn’t make out what they were saying. His head felt like it was full of cotton. His whole body was numb, save for a sharp pain in his right side and the sensation of something pricking the back of his left hand. 

 

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

 

Something was making a repetitive, steady beeping noise just above his left shoulder. It was really irritating. As the clouds in his mind began to dissipate, Ford could feel small objects attached to his chest, abdomen, wrists and neck. Something tight was wrapped around his middle and around his forehead. The air smelled far too fresh to be natural. His chest ached every time he inhaled. He was lying down on something soft - a bed? What had happened? What was he doing in a hospital? Who was that next to him, still muttering profanity?

 

All at once, the memories of the previous evening came flooding back to him. He’d been with Rick at a bar. They’d had a meal. As they were leaving, Ford had… done something to aggravate another customer. There was smashed glass .. that’s right. He’d bumped into somebody and they had dropped their beer. He’d been surrounded, shoved, punched, kicked… Rick had been watching. Then, there had been pain. So much  _ pain.  _ He’d collapsed. The men had run off. There’d been gunshots, shouts… Rick had been the one shouting.

 

Rick!

 

It was Rick sat next to him now, wasn’t it? The scientist had been there when Ford had passed out. He’d been holding Ford’s hand, pressing down on his wound, shouting at him to stay awake. Ford remembered something hitting his face. Something wet. Rain? No. No, it hadn’t been raining. The sun was going down when they had left the bar and there had been no clouds. He remembered the pink and orange sky. Well, if it hadn’t been rain, what  _ had  _ it been? 

 

Tears. Rick’s voice had been cracking and shaking. He’d been screaming at Ford to stay awake, hadn’t he? 

 

Shit, Rick!

 

“Mhh… nrrggh.” Ford gripped the bedsheets. His eyes refused to open, but at least his mouth was working now. 

 

“...or...Fo...Ford…?”

 

Ford gritted his teeth and forced his eyes open. He shut them instantly, the bright light burning them. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, slowly. “Ngh…”

 

“Hey, Fordsy, can you hear me?”

 

“R...Rick…?” Ford turned his head to the right slowly. Everything was blurry. There was a faint pale pink shape. He felt someone grasp his right shoulder gently.

 

“Open your eyes you dumbass.”

 

Ford flinched at the light, opening his eyes further. His vision focused enough for him to be able to see Rick beside him. He realised he didn’t have his glasses on. No wonder he couldn’t see properly. It still looked like he was underwater. The shapes were slightly blurred. “Ngh… how long have I been out…?”

 

“Three days,” Rick said quietly.

 

“Th… three days…?”

 

“Hey, you might not have woken up at - uurp - all. If that knife got into your lung you would have died.”

 

Ford shifted slightly in the bed. His side flared up in pain and he inhaled sharply. His head started spinning.

 

“Don’t get up, you idiot.” Rick laid back in the chair. “You lost almost a fatal amount of b-uurp-blood. Moving isn’t a good idea right now.”

 

“No shit,” Ford muttered, lying back down slowly. He was breathing heavily. “How bad’s the damage?”

 

Rick leant over towards the end of the bed, by Ford’s feet. He picked up the clipboard from the tray and held it in his hands, reading the information written on the sheets of paper. The top sheet had details on the injuries Ford had sustained. There were three graphs drawn on the sheets underneath - monitoring Ford’s pulse and blood pressure over the course of the last three days. “The knife was embedded about three and a half inches into y-uurp-your side. It missed your lung but got your large intestine and the bottom of your liver. You lost nearly three pints of blood. They had to g-uurp-give you a liver transplant.”

 

Ford couldn’t help it. He laughed. It hurt to do so, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. He wasn’t laughing particularly loudly, but it was enough to make Rick look at him as if he had just fallen out of the sky. The oxygen mask around his mouth muffled the noise.

 

Rick raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Well, it’s just that I thought you’d be the one to get a liver transplant, not me.” Ford chuckled. 

 

Rick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Hilarious, Pines. You’re a real fucking comedian.”

 

Ford smirked. He looked over at the doorway as he heard someone else enter. A nurse walked in. She had short curly hair and square, black-rimmed glasses. She walked over and stood at Ford’s left side. “Good morning, Mr Pines. I’m glad to see that you’re awake. How do you feel?”

 

“Dizzy,” Ford sighed. “My head feels like it’s underwater and it’s making me feel sick.”

 

“That’s a side effect of the morphine, I’m afraid,” the nurse held her hand out in front of Rick, silently asking for the clipboard. Rick handed the object to her. The nurse flipped the pages over until she reached a half-completed graph, a jagged line jerking up and down across the centre of the page. “So far today, your heart rate has remained low. It seems to have increased since you woke up, however. Your blood pressure is rising again, back up to normal levels. That’s a good thing.”

 

“How much longer am I going to be here?” Ford asked. He’d always detested hospitals. They felt like prisons. Ten years of treating his injuries himself meant that he hadn’t been to one in a considerable length of time. 

 

“Well, if you continue to heal at the rate you’re doing so now, I’d say…” the nurse hummed in thought for a moment. “Another two weeks, give or take a couple of days. The stitches in your abdomen are likely to rip and come apart if you’re back to normal levels of activity less than three weeks after the initial injury. That would mean you would have to be rushed back in for emergency surgery and have another three weeks added to the treatment, on top of whatever was remaining before you left.”

 

“Fantastic,” Rick grumbled. He leaned back in his seat, the chair rocking back on its hind legs. Rick kept his feet planted firmly on the floor to keep himself from toppling over. “Guess I’ll have to play babysitter until you’re better. How long will it take him to recover once he’s - uurp - outta here?”

 

“A further month or so,” The nurse responded. She adjusted the IV stand (so  _ that  _ was what was stabbing Ford’s hand - he had only just now noticed the cannula hooked up to an IV of a clear liquid he could only assume was morphine) and checked the monitor the morphine was attached to. “Try to avoid any sort of rigorous exercise or activity until then. You’ll have to take particular care in bed and in the shower. Any sort of blunt trauma to the stitches is likely to cause them to tear open.”

 

Ford nodded. “What about this mask?”

 

The nurse checked the oxygen level of the gas canister the mask was attached to. “The canister is still half full. I’ll take that off if you like, but if you start to feel a shortness of breath or a persistent dry cough, you  _ must  _ put it back on straight away, understand?”

 

“Yeah, got it.” Ford said. He sat up slightly, allowing the nurse to unhook the mask from his face and remove it. He inhaled slowly, taking a good lungful of the crisp, sterile hospital air around him. The nurse did one final check of Ford’s vitals and left the room, pulling the door half-shut as she did so. 

 

Ford continued to breathe slowly. He picked up on the faint stench of stale alcohol from Rick. The man had been drinking again, hadn’t he? By the smell of it, though, it seemed as though he’d been drinking an awful lot more than usual. The more he breathed, the stronger the smell became. “Rick?”

 

Rick had the mouth of his flask against his lips, mid-way through taking a sip. He pulled the flask away. “Yeah?” 

 

“How much have you had to drink since the night I was stabbed?”

 

Rick nearly choked. Clearly, the question had come as a shock. He hadn’t expected Ford to have noticed the minute difference in the strength of the alcoholic smell. “Not much more than usual, why?”

 

“I can smell it on you. It’s stronger than normal.” Ford said simply. “You’re lying.”

 

Rick scoffed. “The hell do you care? I’m practically drinking myself to death anyway.”

 

“Rick.” Ford’s voice turned cold. 

 

Rick threw his hands up in the air, a few droplets of alcohol flying from the still-open flask. “Fine. I’ve gone through three bottles at least. Happy?”

 

“Three bottles of what? Whiskey? Beer?”

 

“Moonshine.” Rick said flatly.

 

It was Ford’s turn to choke, this time on his own breath. “What?! Do you have any idea what that’s doing to your system?!”

 

Rick shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.” 

 

“Rick. That is going to  _ kill you! _ ” Ford couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He did a mental calculation in his head. The moonshine Rick consumed was about 60% ABV, so three times five hundred millilitre bottles, one unit is 10ml alcohol. “You’ve consumed about 90 units of alcohol in  _ three days.  _ That’s  _ fifteen times  _ the limit of what’s safe! You’re insane!”

 

“Well maybe I don’t fucking care!” Rick snapped. He slammed his flask down on the nightstand, his hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been drinking since I was ten.  _ Ten!  _ It’s not the sort of thing I can just give up easily!”

 

Ford growled, a feral sound Rick was surprised to hear. “Well maybe  _ I  _ care! I don’t exactly want to see the only friend I’ve had for ten years drink himself to death!”

 

Rick opened his mouth to swear, but his protests died on his tongue as Ford started coughing violently. The man’s whole body was shaking. Ford lifted a hand to his mouth to cover it as he hacked. His breathing was uneven and ragged. “Shit… shit!” Rick leapt from his chair and grabbed the oxygen mask, pulling the elastic around the back of Ford’s head and fixing the mask in place over his mouth and nose. “Easy… Jesus Christ…”

 

Ford visibly relaxed once the oxygen mask was back on his face. He was still panting, his body trying to make up for the temporary lack of air. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

 

Rick let out a shuddering breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “Don’t you fucking dare scare me like that again. I’ve had enough worry over the past few days as it is.”

 

“Worry you’ve been trying to drown in alcohol, you mean?” Ford said acidly. 

 

Rick flinched. “So what?”

 

“So what?!  _ So what?!  _ Don’t ‘So what?’ me, Sanchez.” Ford snapped. “What the hell would I do if you killed yourself through alcohol poisoning?” Ford’s lungs burned. He took slow, deep breaths. “I’ve already lost my family and my home. I can’t lose you too.”

 

Rick sighed. “Oh fuck, man… Shit, I’m…”

 

Ford looked away so Rick couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “I  _ can’t  _ lose you.”

  
  


Rick leant back in the seat, running a hand through his hair. “Shit… I-I’m… damnit. I’m sorry…”

 

Ford sighed, but didn’t turn to look at Rick. “It’s alright… who the hell am I to tell you how to live your life?”

 

“You’re the only person who’s given a shit about me in years,” Rick muttered. He wasn’t lying, either. Ever since he’d left his wife years ago, he hadn’t met a single person who’d actually cared about him. Most of the time, people used him for their own personal benefit. He’d made weapons for serial killers, transported drugs, pulled off heists, but no matter who he worked with, at the end of the day, he was still left to fend for himself. Not a single person cared about whether or not he lived to see another day, or if he was arrested, or if he was beaten up. He’d been evicted from so many different apartments in so many dimensions that he’d grown to realise he was on his own in the world. At least, he had been until he met Ford. The pair shared so many similarities. They’d both been separated from their families, from their homes, for so long. They’d both been on the run from the Feds for years. They’d been fighting by themselves for ages. 

 

Ford turned his head to face Rick. He was shocked to see that the scientist’s gaze was fixed on a point on the floor. His hands were shaking. “Rick?”

 

“Do you have any idea what it was like, watching you bleed out in front of me?” Rick’s voice was cracking again. Ford could see his shoulders shaking. “I thought you were going to d-uurp-die. The first friend I’d had in years could have literally  _ died  _ in my arms.” Rick’s head snapped up. “You were so fucking pale. There was blood everywhere. You were so fucking  _ cold.  _ You were shaking like a leaf and there was blood running from your mouth. When you passed out I literally thought you’d…” His voice broke off with a sob and he covered his face with his hands. 

 

Ford was stunned. Rick Sanchez had just had an emotional breakdown in front of him. From what Ford had learned over the week or so he’d spent with the man, Rick  _ never  _ showed any sort of emotional fragility like this. Ford lifted a six-fingered hand and grabbed Rick’s wrist. “Hey, look at me.”

 

Rick looked up, angrily rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand. They were bloodshot, tears still leaking from the corners. 

 

Ford looked him in the eyes - or at least, the darker patches of his face he  _ assumed  _ were Rick’s eyes. “I’m sorry I scared you like that. I didn’t intend for that to happen. I really care about you, you know? I’d never do anything like that on purpose.”

 

Rick laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I don’t really see you as the guy who’d actively try to kill himself.” He held Ford’s hand gently, shifting the chair closer to the bed. “I just got so fucking worried. I shot the guy who stabbed you, by the way.”

 

“What?!” Ford’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

 

Rick snorted. “I figured you’d react like that. You’re such a fucking dork.”

 

Ford rolled his eyes and smirked. “Least I don’t go around shooting the people who cause me problems.”

 

“Hey, he could have killed you, the bastard - uurp - deserved it.” Rick smirked. “I couldn’t just let him run away.”

 

“You didn’t kill him, did you?”

 

“Don’t think so. The shot clipped his shoulder, it didn’t look fatal.” Rick shrugged. “Don’t really care if it was, to be honest.” Rick squeezed Ford’s hand. “I wanted to make him pay for stabbing you.”

 

“Well I appreciate the concern,” Ford grinned. He let out a quiet yawn. He must have been awake for at least half an hour by now and he was exhausted. His body was still very weak. 

 

The yawn didn’t go unnoticed by Rick. The scientist raised an eyebrow. “You’d better get some more sleep Pines,” he said quietly, squeezing Ford’s hand again.

 

Ford shrugged. “I’m not that tired.” He lied. “It’s just the painkillers. By the way, what happened to my glasses?”   
  


Rick cringed. “One of those assholes stood on them as they ran off.” He reached a hand into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled something out. He held it out to Ford.

 

Ford took the item in his free hand carefully, holding it up to his face to try and focus on it. His glasses. The lenses were cracked and shattered, barely still attached to the frame. The metal frame was bent and one of the arms had snapped off. Any part of the lenses that wasn’t broken was scratched and spotted with blood and dirt. “Well, fuck.” Ford tossed the broken glasses down towards the bottom of the bed, where they landed somewhere by his feet. “Guess I’ll have to get some new ones.”

 

Rick frowned. “Sorry.”

 

Ford shook his head. “It’s not your fault. They’re not that hard to replace. I’m sure I can get some new ones once I’m out of the hospital.”

 

“What’s your prescription?” Rick asked. “You can’t go two weeks without glasses. Your eyes will be ruined.”

 

“Well they’re pretty shit in the first place.” Ford smirked. “They’re +8.5,”

 

“Jesus Christ!” Rick balked. “You’re blind, Fordsy.”

 

Ford shrugged. “I’m used to it. I’ve worn glasses all my life. It made swimming difficult, though.”

 

“Well, first thing tomorrow, I’m going to get you s-uurp-some new ones,” Rick said. “You’re squinting an awful lot and your eyes will only get worse the longer you’re without glasses.”

 

“Fine. You’d better not get me any hideous ones.” Ford raised an eyebrow. “If I end up looking like some sort of circus performer I’ll kill you.”

 

“Relax,” Rick waved him off. “I’ll get ones like your old ones. Don’t you have any spare ones?”

 

“I haven’t been able to find any places that sell ones that are anywhere near suitable for a human.” Ford sighed. “The only spare pair I had were lost when I was pulled into the portal ten years ago. My brother’s got them.”

 

Rick sighed. “Alright, I’ll see if I can’t get them to make two pairs, then.”

 

Ford nodded. He yawned again, this time slightly louder. He felt absolutely drained. He scrubbed a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He felt Rick let go of his hand and get up. 

 

“Seriously, get some rest.” Rick pointed a finger at him. “You could carry groceries in the bags under your eyes.”

 

“You’re one to talk.” Ford retorted. “When was the last time you slept?”

 

Rick shrugged. “I dunno. On and off. I’ve barely left this room since you were br-uurp-brought in.”

 

“Go home, Rick. Get some proper sleep.” Ford yawned, reaching his arms out behind his head and stretching his feet down towards the end of the bed. “I mean it.”

 

Rick plonked himself down in the chair and crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere until you fall asleep. You’re still injured, dumbass, you need rest.”

 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Fine, but if I wake up and you’re still here, I’ll be pissed off.”

 

“Deal.” Rick smirked. Ford shut his eyes and pulled the bedsheet up to his shoulders. His fatigue soon took over and he fell asleep, his quiet snores being muffled by the oxygen mask.

 

Rick couldn’t help but smile. Ford looked downright  _ cute  _ when he slept. His rough expression faded, making him look much younger than forty-something. He looked so peaceful. Rick folded his arms on the side of the bed and leaned forward, resting his head on them. He didn’t care that his back would be killing him in the morning, or what Ford would say when he woke up to find Rick sleeping like that. He wasn’t going to leave Ford’s side until his friend was better. He’d have to go and get supplies eventually, but for now he was content not going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave his sleeping charge alone.

 

Damnit. He’d gone soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting more gay the more I write. I'm not sorry.


	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford finds the strength to get out of bed, and Rick makes a promise to help both of them heal.

Ford was woken to the sound of snoring in his ear. Wrenching his eyes open, he turned his head towards the source of the noise and smirked. Rick was passed out beside him, sprawled over the bed. His mouth hung open slightly, a small damp patch of drool by his lips. Ford shook his head Looking around the room and deciding it was still too early for any nurses to disturb him, he lifted his right arm up and laid it over the scientist’s shoulders gently. 

 

Rick grunted in his sleep and shifted slightly, almost moving closer to Ford. Ford smiled and rubbed his thumb over Rick's shoulder gently. The rhythmic movements were therapeutic. The texture of Rick’s shirt underneath his hand was rough and slightly gritty. Ford pulled his hand away and rubbed his thumb and first middle finger together. Small pieces of dry dirt fell from his hand onto the white bedsheets. The man rolled his eyes and put his arm back around Rick’s shoulders. He really needed to get the scientist to do some damn laundry at some point. 

 

Rick started to come to five minutes later. He yawned loudly and sat up, Ford’s arm falling from around his shoulders. He stretched his arms upwards and leaned backwards, his spine clicking and popping. Ford winced. “I told you not to sleep here.”

 

Rick looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too.” He looked at Ford’s arm. “What were you doing?”

 

Ford coughed and avoided eye contact. “Nothing. There was a bug on your shoulder.”

 

Rick’s expression didn’t change. “Sure. Anyway, how are you feeling?”

 

“Still pretty sick.” Ford shrugged. “I’m not sure the side-effects of the morphine have worn off yet. I’m starving, as well.”

 

Rick got to his feet. “I’ll see if I can’t get the nurses to give you something. Be right back.”

 

Before Ford could say anything else, Rick was already out in the hall. The scientist walked up to the nurses’ desk and leant against it casually. One of the nurses, a dark-skinned man with black hair, looked up at him. “Can I help you?”

 

“Yeah, Ford Pines wanted to know if he could have anything to eat.” Rick said casually, scratching his arm. “He just woke up.”

 

The nurse checked through the documentation about Ford on the desk in front of him. “It can’t be any solid food, I’m afraid. He is likely to get an upset stomach eating solid foods so soon after surgery, but I can get him some soup.” 

 

“That’ll do,” Rick shrugged and nodded. The nurse got up from the desk and headed off down the hall. Rick turned around and went back to Ford’s room.

 

Ford looked up as Rick entered. “So?”

 

“The nurse said you can’t have any solid food,” Rick sat back down in the chair. “It’s likely to give you an upset stomach so soon after your surgery. He’s gonna get you some soup,”

 

Ford sighed. “It’s better than nothing, I suppose.” He said flatly. “Guess I don’t have much choice unless I want to throw up all over the bed.”

 

Rick pulled a face. “Yeah, I’d stick to the soup, at least for a few days. Trust me, being bathed by hospital staff is something you want to avoid at all costs.”

 

Ford cringed. “That seems like the sort of thing that’s going to happen, considering I can barely sit up straight without my side hurting.”

 

Rick chuckled. “You have fun with that. You’d better just hope that it’s a guy washing you down.”

 

It was Ford’s turn to pull a face. At that moment, the nurse from earlier walked in, holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. He set both items down on Ford’s side table. “I’m just going to help you sit upright, okay?”

 

Ford nodded and lifted his head up slightly. The nurse adjusted the tilt of the bed carefully, lifting Ford into a more upright position. He slipped another pillow behind Ford’s back to keep him supported. “Give me a shout when you’ve finished,” the nurse said, passing Ford the bowl and the spoon. He took Ford’s oxygen mask off and left Ford to eat in peace.

 

Ford stirred the mixture in the bowl, giving it a wary look. If he knew anything about hospitals, it was that hospital food was quite often  _ terrible.  _ Rick seemed to be having the same thought. “That looks like something they just took out of a swamp. I mean I knew hospital food was shit but this is taking the piss.”

 

Ford scooped up a little of the liquid with the spoon and placed the spoon gently into his mouth. It was slightly cooler than boiling, but it was still pretty hot. From what Ford could tell, it was leek and potato soup. It was actually rather nice. He took another few spoonfuls.

 

Rick feigned gagging. “Urrgch, that stuff was probably made weeks ago and just reheated.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Ford shrugged. “Maybe it’s just my hunger talking, but I like it.”

 

“You must  _ really  _ be starving.” Rick smirked. “I’m not surprised, though. They had to pump your stomach before they could operate on you, since there was alcohol in your system and you also might have been sick under the anaesthetic.”

 

“Don’t put me off my food.” Ford shot him a look, still shoveling soup into his mouth. 

 

Rick snorted and leaned back in the chair. His hand twitched, his instinct telling him to reach for the flask in his pocket. He curled his hand up and gripped his trouser leg, though. He wasn’t going to drink. He couldn’t, not with the state Ford was in. The argument yesterday had made him think. Here Ford was, recovering from a brush with death and Rick still thought a solution to his problem was to drink. He’d been doing it for so many years now that it was his go-to reaction to anything. Heck, the night he’d left his wife, pregnant with their first  - and only - child, he’d just kept drinking until he passed out in an alleyway and woke up the next morning soaked with rain and a killer hangover. Since then, his alcohol problem had been just as bad. He’d managed to convince himself that alcohol solves everything. But alcohol was what got Ford into this state in the first place. 

 

Ford soon finished the soup and put the bowl and spoon back on the nightstand. He noticed the slightly vacant expression on Rick’s face. “Rick?” He asked quietly, frowning. “Are you okay?”

 

Rick whispered something inaudible, turning his head away. His hands were shaking.

 

Ford couldn’t hear him. “What?”

 

“...It’s my fault…”

 

Ford’s gaze softened. “What…? What’s your fault?”

 

“This!” Rick gestured to the hospital bed, monitors and Ford himself. “All of this is my fault. I took you to that stupid bar. I basically made you drink. Maybe if you hadn’t had that pint, you wouldn’t have bumped into that guy and you wouldn’t have been stabbed.” Rick was shaking, his face buried in his hands. He choked back sobs “This is all my fucking fault. You nearly  _ died and it’s all  _ **_my fault!”_ **

 

“Rick!” Ford snapped. “Stop it! This is  _ not  _ your fault!”

 

“Give me one fucking reason why it isn’t!” Rick snapped back, teeth clenched and furiously wiping the tears out of his eyes. Why did he have to be so  _ weak? _

 

“Because I’m the one who let myself get inebriated, even just a little. I couldn’t focus enough and I bumped into that guy because I was too much of a damn coward to refuse an alcoholic drink.” Ford replied. “I was afraid of getting drunk and embarrassing myself, but even more afraid of looking like a damn coward.”

 

“Ford,” Rick sighed. “You’re not a coward for not drinking, you’re the opposite. I’m a damn coward for drowning my mind in booze every time I have to face any actual problems. I drink because I’m too weak to deal with my own problems. Hell, I let myself drink more than usual while you were still unconscious because I didn’t like the things I was feeling. I was too damn worried about you and I didn’t like it, so I drank. You shouldn’t have to think that I’d think any less of you for having lemonade instead of booze. Drinking just makes everything worse.”

 

Ford frowned. “Rick, listen to me. I’ll help you through this, okay? But you have to agree to let me help. I can’t help you if you won’t let me. Promise you'll let me help?”

 

Rick took a deep breath, steadying his shaking hands. “Okay… okay… I’ll let you help me. I promise.”

 

Ford held Rick’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”

 

Rick looked up at him and smiled. Not smirked, genuinely  _ smiled.  _ He noticed Ford had a little drop of soup still on his face and leant forward to wipe it off. “Here, you’ve got something on your face.”

 

Ford lifted his hand to wipe his mouth, but felt Rick’s sleeve on his face before he could do it himself. He could barely smell any alcohol on Rick’s breath, now, clearly indicating that the scientist hadn’t had a drink in a good few hours. As Rick moved to lean away, Ford quickly wrapped his arms around him. Rick was startled for a moment, unused to the contact, before he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Ford in return, sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

“You haven’t been drinking again,” Ford said quietly into Rick’s shoulder. “The smell isn’t as strong any more.” 

 

Rick laid his chin on top of Ford’s head. “I stopped after that argument. I just couldn’t bring myself to worry you like that again.” 

 

“Thank you,” Ford pulled away, looking Rick in the eyes. “ _ Thank you,” _

 

Rick smiled again. Ford returned the gesture, giving a quick laugh and looking away, putting his arms back by his sides. He felt himself blush, his cheeks getting warmer. Rick kept his around Ford, biting his lip. He fixed his gaze on a point on the wall just above Ford’s head. He realised quickly that he still had his arms around Ford’s shoulders and moved them away. He didn’t get off the bed, though. It was far more comfortable than the plastic chair he’d been sleeping/sitting in for the last few days. 

Eventually Rick snapped himself out of it and got off the bed, sitting back in the plastic chair. He looked up at the IV bag of morphine Ford was still hooked up to. It was pretty much empty by now. “The morphine’s empty, I’d better tell the nurse. You’ll be in a heck of a lot of pain if it isn’t refilled.”

 

“‘Kay,” Ford nodded as Rick got up from the chair and left the room. Ford watched him leave, sighing quietly to himself. There was something about Rick that was just…  _ fascinating.  _ He was so cocky, so confident, yet underneath his careless outer shell was someone who, at the end of the day, actually cared about someone other than himself. And that someone was Ford. The scientist had taken him under his wing and treated him like family, even though they’d only known each other properly for a little under two weeks.

 

Ford looked towards the door as he heard Rick come back, unaccompanied and holding a fresh IV bag of morphine. “That was quick. Where’s the nurse?”

 

“He said I could do it, since it doesn’t take a genius to change an IV drip,” Rick replied. “A genius is going to change it anyway,”

 

Ford snorted. “Nothing like modesty,”

 

Rick shrugged and stood beside the bed. He put the morphine down on the nightstand before he carefully unscrewed the tube from the cannula in Ford’s hand. He took the empty IV down from the stand and threaded the tube of the new one through the monitor attached to the stand. He hooked the bag up and attached the end of the tube to Ford’s cannula. He pressed a couple of buttons on the monitor on the IV stand. The machine beeped twice before giving out a gentle hum. “There we go. At least you won’t feel any pain,”

 

“Thanks,” Ford grinned. Rick gave him a grin and laid back casually in the chair. “I take it you haven’t made any more progress with the ship in the few days I was out of it?”

 

“Well if I spent the whole time sitting in this chair, then no,” Rick replied. “It’s still in the state we left it before we went to the bar - engine complete, the rest of it in bits.”

 

“At least we got somewhere with it,” Ford said. “Better than nothing. I’ll be out of here soon, anyway. We can finish it then.”

 

“Oh no, Pines.” Rick put his hands up. “You’re resting until you’re better. I’m not having you rip your stitches open trying to lift heavy machine parts or accidently overexerting yourself doing work on the ship. Your health is more important.”

 

Ford was grinning again. His leg twinged with discomfort and his smile dropped. He had horrible pins and needles from lying down for so long. His legs were aching. He lifted his legs up slowly, bending his knees slightly. He moved his ankles around before putting his legs back down.

 

“Let me guess, you’re sick of lying down?” Rick raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, my legs feel really numb. Reckon you could ask the nurse when I can get out of bed at least?”

 

“Yeah, one sec,” Rick got up and left the room again. He came back a minute later with a nurse. She had shoulder-length mousy-brown hair and was about the same height as Rick. “You can get out of bed, if you want, but you’ll need support.”

 

“I’ll help him up,” Rick said almost instantly. The nurse nodded and started unhooking the electrodes of the heart rate monitor from Ford's chest. Once Ford had been detached from the monitor, Rick slipped an arm under Ford's back and helped him sit upright. Ford pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He only now realised he was wearing a pale blue hospital gown and plain white boxers. 

 

“Just be careful not to strain your stitches too much, otherwise they’ll tear.” The nurse reminded him. She came to the conclusion that Rick was more than capable of helping Ford in and out of bed, so she left the room. “Give me a shout if you have any problems.”

 

“Will do,” Rick nodded. He pulled Ford’s arm around his shoulders and lifted him up carefully.

 

Ford’s legs shook beneath him and he stumbled forward. It felt as though he was walking with prosthetics - he couldn’t feel his legs. Rick kept a steady hand on his shoulder to stop him falling. Ford had a death grip on Rick’s arm. Gradually, the circulation returned to Ford’s legs and he was able to move them again. He drew a circle in the air with his left foot. 

 

“You okay?” Rick took Ford’s arm off his shoulder. “Reckon you can walk now?” He pulled the IV stand closer so the morphine wouldn’t be pulled out of the cannula in Ford’s hand.

 

“Yeah,” Ford nodded, clutching the bar at the end of the bed. He took a careful step forward, breathing slowly. Rick moved the IV stand around, keeping it close to Ford. Ford took hold of the stand and walked forwards. His legs gradually grew stronger and his steps became more confident. 

 

Rick leant against the wall with his arms crossed, grinning. “Not bad, Pines,”

 

Ford rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. “You coming?”

 

“Yeah, why not?” Rick pushed himself off the wall and followed Ford out of the room. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

 

Ford turned left down the hall, stepping carefully and pulling the IV stand along beside him. It felt good to be back on his feet again. He hated being inactive. Rick walked slowly beside him. The scientist gave him a quick grin and a thumbs-up, which Ford returned. The pair walked to the end of the corridor, turned around and walked back again. By this time, Ford was out of breath and exhausted. “Tired already, Fordsy?” Rick raised an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

 

“I’m… I’m still healing,” Ford panted, sitting back down on his hospital bed. “Not to mention I’m likely still suffering from anaemia due to blood loss, so it’s really hard doing simple things like walking.”

 

“Well you’d better get more rest, then.” Rick said, helping Ford back into the bed. “Not necessarily sleep, just lie still.”

 

Ford obeyed, lying back down and tugging the bed sheet up over his chest. “Hey, Rick?”

 

“Yeah?” Rick looked at him as he sat back down in the chair. 

 

“Thank you. For everything.” Ford smiled.

 

Rick shrugged. “I haven’t got many better things to do, but you’re welcome,” he grinned. 

 

Ford felt fatigue begin to pull him under again. He fought to keep his eyes open. The simple task of walking to the end of the hall and back had drained what little energy he had had left. 

 

Rick noticed him struggling. “Get some sleep, Ford. Don’t mind me. I’ll be here when you wake up, anyway.”

 

Ford nodded and let his eyes fall shut. He listened to the sounds around him: the quiet hum of the equipment throughout the hospital, the chatter of nurses and patients in other rooms in the ward, the gentle, rhythmic puffs of Rick’s breathing. He let himself relax, unconsciousness taking him once again.

  
Rick looked at Ford, noticing the man had already drifted off to sleep again. He figured it would be a good few hours until Ford woke up again, so he pulled a small device out of his pocket and started fiddling with it to keep himself occupied. He eventually found himself yawning, too, despite not having done anything tiresome recently. He settled down in the chair and let himself pass out, his hand slipping off his lap and hanging limply by his side, the device falling to the floor with a quiet thud.


	9. Technical Difficulties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford gets back from the hospital. He's utterly exhausted and still healing. Rick has given up drinking for the sake of Ford's health, but what is that letter he's hiding?

As predicted, Ford was out of the hospital within two weeks. The doctor had told him not to lift any heavy objects or do any strenuous tasks for a month at least. He had to take things easy until he had properly healed, otherwise he’d be brought straight back for further treatment. In the car ride on the way home, Rick had driven much more carefully. He’d not only stuck to the speed limit, if not under it, but he hadn’t taken any sharp turns, violent swerves or cut people off. Ford was shocked. 

 

Rick unlocked the door to the apartment and let Ford through the doorway first. The place had barely been touched since the night they’d gone to the bar. The clothes Ford had been wearing when he’d last worked on the ship were still in a pile by the kitchen door. They hadn’t been washed. Rick’s clothes were in piles beside the sofa, in the corner of the living room. “The place is still a dump,” Rick said as he shut the door behind him. “I’ve barely been here since  _ that  _ night.”

 

Ford shrugged and eased himself down onto the couch. He could feel his stitches tugging and he breathed slowly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get round to clearing up eventually.”

 

“No, you won’t.” Rick took a seat next to him. “You’re going to rest, otherwise I’m hauling your ass right back to the hospital.”

 

Ford snickered. “Admit it, you missed having me at home.”

 

“Not really,” Rick shrugged, but let a small smirk play onto his face. “But then I haven’t been at home much.”

 

Ford lifted his feet up and put them on the coffee table in front of him, lying back slightly. “It’s still good to be out of the hospital, though. No nurses poking and prodding me, and no creepy doctors staring at my hands and asking questions. I swear, if I get asked one more time if I have the full range of motion in my extra fingers I’m going to demonstrate by strangling them.”

 

Rick barked a laugh. “I was tempted to deck one of them at one point. That guy who just grabbed your hand and started poking your finger seemed like a creep. I’m not even sure he was an actual doctor.”

 

“Which one? Dr Brown?”

 

“I heard someone call him ‘Emmett’, but yeah, that guy.”

 

Ford looked at Rick and frowned slightly. “He looked like an older version of you.”

 

“He did, didn’t he?” Rick smirked. “He just sort of barged in and started poking your hand. I’m not entirely sure he was a doctor.”

 

“Well there was that kid who called him ‘Doc’, wasn’t there? Maybe he’s just got a PhD in something. Not medicine, obviously.” Ford shrugged. “Creepy guy. He kept rambling on and on about time or some shit. Weird.”

 

Rick shrugged and grabbed the television remote, scrolling through the channels. He came across a rerun of some of the older episodes of  _ The Simpsons  _ and left that on in the background. He wasn’t paying any particular attention to what was going on. “Let me know when you fancy having lunch and I’ll order something.”

 

“‘Kay,” Ford nodded, somehow looking at the TV without actually seeing what was going on. He just sort of stared into space. He picked at the frayed sleeve of the shirt Rick had brought to the hospital for him to change into when he’d been discharged. It was an old, dark blue shirt with an ombre transition effect turning into black by the bottom of the shirt and the cuffs of the sleeves. It fit Ford better than he had expected it to - he must have lost weight in the hospital. Considering the sizes of the meals he was being fed there, despite Rick sneaking in other foods for him, he wasn’t surprised he’d lost a few pounds. 

 

Rick seemed to be engrossed in picking at a dried stain on the arm of the couch. Neither of them were actually watching the television. As Ford fiddled with one of the threads he’d managed to pull from the shirt, he spotted a letter on the table in front of him. He frowned, setting his feet down and leaning over to have a closer look. There was a strange symbol on the back of the envelope. It looked vaguely like a tetrahedral molecule, with three posts sticking out at equal angles from a central circle. On the end of the three posts was a smaller circle. In the centre of the symbol, there was a long, curved line that resembled the letter ‘R’. Ford remembered where he’d seen that symbol before. “Rick? What’s a letter from the Council of Ricks doing on your coffee table?” He leaned forward further to grab it, feeling his stitches tugging again.

 

Rick sat forward and grabbed the letter quickly, snatching it out of Ford’s reach. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Nobody other than Ricks are allowed to have anything to do with the Council. I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the rules.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to be part of that Council.”

 

Rick shrugged and laid back. “I don’t, but they don’t seem to be able to grasp that concept. I’m perfectly happy on my own without getting involved in any of their mess. No to mention they keep saying either join them or they’ll turn me over to the Feds. This letter’s just the same bullshit again.”

 

Ford shrugged and sat back slowly. He winced. “Damnit,” He hissed quietly.

 

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Stitches pulling again?”

 

“Yeah,” Ford let out a deep breath. “It’s really uncomfortable.”

 

“Just try not to roll over and lie on them in the middle of the night.” Rick commented. “Trust me, you’ll regret it in the morning.” 

 

Ford snorted. “Really?” He deadpanned. 

 

Rick slapped his arm playfully. “Oh shut up. It’s not like you’ve never pointed out the fuckin’ obvious before.”

 

“Ow! Hey! Alright then, name one time.”

 

Rick held up his hand and started counting on his fingers. “You said that Mexican food was spicy, you got tipsy drinking alcohol, the car’s engine was too hot when you tried to fix it immediately after turning the engine off-”

 

Ford shoved him. “Alright, alright, you win.” He smirked. “Checkmate.”

 

“More like check yourself for burns,” Rick smirked. Ford shoved him again. Rick shoved back, laughing.

 

His laugh died in his throat as Ford clasped his side, taking quick, shallow breaths. Ford seemed to have locked up completely. He was barely moving. “Shit, Ford! I-I-I’m sorry!”

 

Ford let his breath out through gritted teeth. “It's… it's fine… nothing's torn… I'm… I'm okay…”

 

Rick ran a hand through his hair. “Shit… fuck… I shouldn't have shoved you… “

 

“It's fine.” Ford laid back slowly, sinking into the couch cushions. “I'm okay…. I swear. I'm not bleeding, see?” He pulled up his shirt, exposing the stitching and the scar on his right side. Sure enough, none of the stitches had torn and there was no blood, although it was still red.

 

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. “Still, I'm sorry.”

 

Ford waved his concerns off. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m okay,”

 

Rick nodded. “Alright. I’m gonna grab a drink, do you want anything?”

 

“Nothing alcoholic,I hope?” Ford raised an eyebrow.

 

Rick put his hands up in defence. “Hey! I chucked that crap out. It’s just soda. You want one?”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Ford nodded. Rick disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the drinks.

 

Once out of Ford’s view, Rick leaned against the kitchen countertop and pulled the letter out of his pocket. He removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it, looking it over in his hands. He kept reading it over and over again, but the words never changed. His hands were shaking as he read, tears pricking his eyes. He looked towards the living room, where Ford was still watching TV, blissfully unaware as to the contents of the letter.

 

Growling in frustration, Rick stuffed the letter back into his pocket and grabbed the sodas. He walked back into the living room, passing one of the cans to Ford. “Here,”

 

Ford took it and popped the cap open. “Thanks,” he took a sip of the soda, resting the can on his leg. He was getting thoroughly bored of watching TV - nothing particularly interesting was happening. Cartoons should have been a fascination to him - someone who grew up with black-and-white live action television and no children’s television channels. 

 

Rick seemed to be having the same thoughts as he pressed a button on the remote and the screen went blank. “Well, this is shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Ford put his can of soda on the coffee table and tried to push himself up. “I was stuck on my ass for nearly three weeks in the hospital, I want to get up and move around.”

 

Rick got up and stood in front of Ford, pulling him to his feet. “Doing what?”

 

“Anything,” Ford shrugged, keeping one hand on RIck’s arm to support himself. “Working on the ship, walking up and down the road.”

 

“I’m not sure if that is such a good idea. The doctors told you to take it easy,” Rick pointed out. 

 

“Well then I’ll work on the ship,” Ford shrugged. “It doesn’t take much effort to weld things together.”

 

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You’re so stubborn, Fordsy,”

 

Ford smirked. “I know. C’mon, it’s your ship, you’re coming with me.” He grabbed Rick’s wrist and pulled him towards the door. Rick scoffed and let himself be led from the apartment. He paused at the door to lock it behind him, then followed Ford down the hall to the elevator.

 

The simple five-minute walk from the apartment down to the garage where the ship was took much longer than normal. Ford kept pausing to catch his breath and to relieve the pressure on his stitches. He was walking much slower, too. Rick stayed beside him just in case. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get to the garage but eventually the pair were working on the ship again. Ford took things easy and started working on the gearbox while Rick started to assemble the chassis. 

 

They’d barely been working an hour before Ford started to feel lightheaded. He put both hands on the workbench in front of him to brace himself and lowered his head. His breath was coming in short, quick puffs. He was sweating profusely. He took a deep breath and bent his knees carefully, sitting down on the concrete floor of the garage with his back against the workbench. He laid his head back, taking deep breaths.

 

Rick looked over to him, concerned. “You alright Sixer?”

 

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Just dehydrated,” Ford lied, grabbing the bottle of water off the workbench and unscrewing the cap. 

 

Rick walked over and knelt down in front of him. “You sure? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

 

“I’m fine,” Ford repeated. “Honestly.”

 

Rick frowned. He wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t going to push the matter further. He looked at his watch. “Well, it’s one o’clock. Wanna head back for some lunch?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Ford sat forward and tried to push himself up. He cringed, feeling his stitches pulling again. He felt Rick’s hands under his armpits, lifting him up. He grinned once he was on his feet. “Thanks.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Rick shrugged. He walked beside Ford as the pair made their way back to the apartment. The scientist couldn’t help but frown. Ford was still sweating profusely and he was panting heavily. Rick moved over to him and pulled one of Ford’s arms around his shoulders. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

 

Ford would have protested if he weren’t so grateful for the help. He felt extremely lightheaded and dizzy. He had just been feeling so damn tired since he’d left the hospital. With Rick’s help, they made it back to the apartment in ten minutes. When they got there, Rick eased Ford down onto the couch and immediately went to fetch a glass of water. “What do you want for lunch?” He called from the kitchen. 

 

“What sort of leftovers do we have left?”

 

Rick opened the fridge and had a look amongst the various containers. “Uhh, we’ve got some Chinese, some of that Gromflomitian pizza and some of that spaghetti stuff from the Gazorpazorp planet.”

 

“The spaghetti then, please,” Ford called. He heard Rick place something in the microwave. The gentle hum told him the leftovers were heating up. Rick came back into the living room and passed Ford the glass of water. His half-empty soda can still sat on the coffee table in front of him. Ford drank the water before picking up the can again, taking small sips. The microwave beeped five minutes later and Rick got up again.

 

Soon, the pair each had a plate on their lap and were eating quietly. Ford chewed his food slowly. He still hadn’t healed to the point where it was easy for him to eat solid foods - he often had stomach ache afterwards, but he could manage. Halfway through eating, however, Ford suddenly put his plate down and clamped a hand over his mouth. His stomach was lurching. His breath came in shuddering gasps. He was surprised he still felt like this two weeks after his surgery.

 

Rick put his fork down and swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

 

He didn’t receive a response immediately, however. Ford had one hand over his mouth and the other arm wrapped around his stomach. His eyes were clenched shut tightly. Rick frowned and put his own plate down. “Ford? Listen to me. Swallow whatever’s in your mouth at the moment and take a deep breath in through your nose.”

 

Ford did as instructed, cringing as he forced the food down his throat. He inhaled slowly through his nose. His stomach ached and lurched slightly. He felt dizzy, but the slow breathing was helping.

 

“Good, now breathe out slowly through your mouth.”

 

Ford let his breath out through his lips. He repeated the actions a few times, slowly, until he felt his stomach settle down. He grabbed the empty glass off the table and got up, heading into the kitchen to refill it. He’d barely got through the doorway when he felt his stomach lurch again. He shakily put the glass on the countertop and gripped the counter with both hands. He was shaking again. 

 

Rick was by his side, soda can in hand. “Fordsy? Hey, take it easy. Breathe.”

 

Ford nodded and took deep breaths. A fresh glass of water appeared in his vision. Rick passed him a small pill. “Take this,” the scientist said. “It’ll help with the sickness but it’ll make you feel tired.” 

 

Ford took the glass from Rick and drank it slowly. Any bile that had risen in his throat was washed back down and he relaxed. He turned round and looked at Rick. “I’m.. I’m okay. Just a bit of a stomach ache, that’s all. I’m okay, I swear.”

 

Rick looked skeptical. “If you say so.” He said slowly. He took a sip from his soda. Ford took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. As he put his glasses back on, he downed the rest of the glass of water and headed back into the living room. Rick finished his lunch without incident. Ford struggled, but eventually managed to finish his plate. He laid back on the sofa, feeling himself start to drift off.

 

Rick shook his shoulder gently. “Oh no, Pines, you’re not sleeping on the couch like that. C’mon,”

 

Ford grunted and got up, rubbing his eyes. He was absolutely drained of energy. He stifled a yawn as he followed Rick out of the room. In his tired state, he didn’t realise Rick had led him to the only bedroom in the apartment until he was sitting on Rick’s bed. “Rick? No, I can’t take your bed,”

 

Rick waved a hand around to shut him up. “Just get some rest, Fordsy. There’s no way in Hell I’m gonna let you sleep on that couch while you’re still healing. I’ve moved all my shit out already. Just get some sleep.”

 

Ford got up to protest, but Rick put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “I mean it, Pines. Get some sleep.”

 

“I’m fine, Rick,” Ford couldn’t hold back a yawn. He covered his mouth and rubbed his eyes again. The small pill was already having an effect on him.

 

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You are not. You’re tired and you look drunk. Would you just get a few minutes of sleep, then, at least?”

 

Ford was, if he was honest, too tired to argue further. He nodded and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He untangled the bed sheet from underneath him and went to lie down. The pillow underneath his head was slightly uncomfortable. Sitting up straight, he turned round and went to remove whatever was underneath the pillow.

 

Rick beat him to it, quickly pulling out a magazine and tucking it into his pocket. From the quick glimpse he had of the magazine, Ford recognised it as the sort of things his brother used to keep under his pillow when they were teenagers. Ford had never been particularly interested in that sort of thing, but Stanley - and evidently, Rick - had been. Rick coughed awkwardly. “I forgot I left that under there.”

 

Ford just raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re disgusting, you know that right?”

 

Rick shoved his shoulder playfully. “Yeah, you love me anyway though, don’t you?”

 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Duh. Now would you get out so I can get some sleep? It was your suggestion in the first place.”

 

Rick scoffed. “Fine. Get some rest then. I’ll see you later.”

 

“Later,” Ford said as Rick left. The scientist turned the lights off and shut the door behind him 

 

Ford removed his glasses and set them down on the nightstand. He laid down and pulled the blankets up over him, mulling over what Rick had just said.

 

_ “You love me anyway though, don’t you?” _

 

Ford smirked. Sure, it wasn’t the romantic type of love, but it still counted. Rick was family, and he admitted to himself he’d grown rather fond of the scientist over the short period of time that they’d known each other. Rick cared about him, and Ford cared about Rick too. With that comforting thought, Ford closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

 

Rick sat back on the sofa. Satisfied Ford was asleep, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and read it again. Nothing had changed since the last time he’d read it. It still showed the same offer. He bit his lip, knowing that if he were to agree to this, it would mean possibly never seeing Ford again. But come on, he was Rick Sanchez. He didn’t need anybody to survive. He was fine on his own, as he had been for years. He didn’t need some six-fingered interdimensional stowaway holding him down, did he? Still, he couldn’t do this to Ford, not after what had happened recently. He just couldn’t. Ford would hate him for it. Sighing, Rick ran a hand through his hair.

  
Ford would forgive him, right?


	10. Love is in the air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford figures out that Rick has a crush on him. Rick doesn't deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God this chapter is gay. Like really, really gay. I am not sorry in the slightest. The tags promised RickFord, so I shall deliver.

Over the next week or so, Ford slowly got his strength back. He was able to get around without help, his stitches weren’t pulling as much and he didn’t get out of breath as easily. Rick had ‘acquired’ some medicine from another dimension that had greatly sped up the healing process. In a week, Ford had healed as much as a month’s worth of hospital treatment would allow, thanks to the medicine. He wasn’t entirely sure what it contained, but it was sure helping.

 

Ford now stood in the kitchen, chopping up some chicken for the pie he was making. He’d decided it would make a nice change to have a home-cooked meal, rather than a takeaway. Rick was out, probably either getting shopping or working on the ship. Ford suspected the latter option. He made a mental note to get Rick to get some groceries at some point - the fridge was almost empty. Tipping the chicken into the pan, Ford added a little bit of cajun seasoning and the chopped leeks. He stirred the meat and vegetables around the pan, making sure the chicken was cooked evenly on all sides. 

 

As he stirred, Ford’s mind drifted back to Rick, and what he’d said last week.  _ “You love me anyway though, don’t you?”  _ At first, Ford had thought it was just the sort of cocky, confident thing one friend said to another. But over the past week, Ford had thought more and more about it. Rick seemed to show the sort of affection towards Ford that one might show towards someone they had a crush on. He wasn’t afraid to hug Ford, or squeeze his hand, and on more than one occasion recently Ford had caught Rick gazing at him through the corner of his eye. Something at the back of his mind clicked: Rick had a crush on Ford, didn’t he?

 

Ford grinned like a maniac, a small laugh escaping him. What was he, some sort of love-bitten schoolgirl? The man felt himself blush. Evidently the ‘family’ sort of love he’d first thought it was wasn’t quite accurate. Why else would Rick have been so damn upset at the hospital? Rick hadn’t left his side for the majority of the time he was under the nurses’ care. Heck, he’d given up alcohol because Ford was so worried about him. He’d been squeezing Ford’s hand, hugging him. What part of that didn’t scream ‘I have a crush on you?’. Ford smiled. He’d have to tell Rick something when he got back. 

 

Ford heard the door to the apartment open and Rick enter, evidently carrying something heavy, judging by the grunts. “Hey, Rick.” Ford called.

 

“Hey,” Rick called back. He came into the kitchen, carrying heavy bags full of shopping. “I got some more food.” He said, putting the bags down beside the fridge.

 

Ford looked over his shoulder. “Great, the fridge is practically empty. I’ve just used the last of the chicken.”

 

“What ya making?” Rick stood just behind him, looking over his right shoulder. He rested his hand on Ford’s left shoulder.

 

“Chicken and leek pie,” Ford replied. “The leeks needed to be used up. How much food did you buy?”

 

Rick gestured to the bags on the floor. “Enough to last a good couple of weeks at least.”

 

“Thanks,” Ford put the wooden spoon down on the side of the counter. “Hey, Rick? Can I ask you something?”

 

Rick shrugged and leant against the counter. “Yeah, sure. What?”

 

Ford turned around and faced him. His heart pounded in his chest and he let out a quick laugh. “Actually, never mind. It’s dumb.” he chuckled, turning back to the chicken mixture.

 

“No, come on, you’ve said something. I wanna hear it.” Rick crossed his arms and smirked. “Come on,”

 

Ford took a deep breath. “... do you have a crush on me?”

 

Judging by Rick’s reaction, he’d hit the nail on the head. Rick went bright red, his eyes going wide. He chuckled nervously. “W-what? Pfft,  _ no,  _ I don’t.”

 

Ford crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, your red face tells me otherwise.”

 

Rick rubbed the back of his neck and coughed. “Alright,  _ fine.  _ Maybe… Maybe I do, alright? I know. It’s stupid. Feel free to move out or whatev-”

 

Ford cut him off, grabbing Rick’s shirt collar and pulling him down into a kiss. Rick was utterly startled for a moment, before he put his hands on Ford’s hips and kissed him back. Ford stood on the tips of his toes and wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck. After a moment, Ford pulled away and went back to cooking. “You know, you could have just told me.” He shrugged.

 

Rick snapped out of his shock and stood behind Ford as the shorter man cooked, the scientist’s hands resting on his hips and his chin on Ford’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you felt the same way.”

 

Ford smiled and kissed Rick’s cheek. “Well, you do now,”

 

Rick smirked. He stepped back and started emptying the shopping bags, putting things away in the cupboards and the fridge. Ford couldn't keep the smile off his face as he kept cooking, adding a bit of water, a pinch of Cajun seasoning and some salt and pepper to the pan. Moving the pan across to the smaller hob and leaving it to simmer, Ford pulled out a smaller pan and started making a roux sauce. As he stirred the milk in, he felt a pair of hands slide around his waist. 

 

Rick laid his chin on Ford's shoulder again, looking at the pans of pie filling on the cooker. “Mmmm, looks nice.”

 

“I haven't even rolled out the pastry, yet. It'll look better when it's finished.” Ford said.

 

“I take it you bought the pastry?” Rick assumed. 

 

“Nope. It's in the fridge. I made it earlier,” Ford gestured to the fridge. “It only took twenty minutes. It's shortcrust pastry.”

 

“You're so talented,” Rick murmured into Ford's ear.

 

Ford shrugged him off. “You'll make me burn this if I don't keep stirring it.”

 

Rick took a step back and leaned against the counter. Ford finished stirring the sauce, satisfied that it was thick enough, before he mixed the sauce and the chicken mixture together. He opened the fridge and took out the pastry. Lightly dusting the surface of the table with flour, he set about rolling the pastry until it was roughly a quarter of an inch thick. He lined a pie dish with pastry, filled it with the chicken filling and rolled another circle of pastry for the lid. He cut a small hole in the pastry lid and put the dish into the oven.

 

Rick took the opportunity to wrap his hands back around Ford's waist, pulling him into his arms. Ford rolled his eyes. “Do you mind?”

 

“No, not at all,” Rick grinned. He kissed Ford's cheek. Ford snorted.

 

“So that's it, I tell you I love you and then you’re all kisses and cuddles?”

 

Rick shrugged. “Just for now, yeah. You complaining?”

 

Ford leaned right in close. “Not at all.” He pressed his lips against Rick's once more, one arm round his shoulders and his other hand running through the scientist's wild hair. Rick kept his arms around Ford's waist, his hands on his hips. Ford bit Rick's lip gently. Rick responded by leaning into the kiss further, his tongue running across the roof of Ford's mouth. Ford moaned, his hand cupping Rick's cheek. Rick rubbed his hands over Ford's hips. Ford leaned into the touch, stroking Rick's cheek with his thumb.

 

After a minute, Ford pulled back and laid his head against Rick's shoulder, his arms draped loosely around Rick's middle. Rick laid his cheek against the top of Ford's head. “So, I guess we worked out why you never had a girlfriend.”

 

Ford snickered. “Guess so. I was barking up the wrong tree, so to speak.”

 

Rick ran a hand through Ford’s hair gently. “C’mon, let’s go watch TV until the pie’s cooked.” he patted the shorter man’s shoulder and took hold of his wrist, leading him into the living room.

 

Ford rolled his eyes. “I can walk just fine on my own, you know.”

 

Rick shrugged. “Don’t care, you have soft wrists.”

 

Ford snorted as Rick pulled him over to sit on the couch. The scientist laid an arm around Ford’s shoulders as soon as he sat down. Ford leaned against him and grabbed the TV remote. He flipped through the channels, searching for something decent to watch.

 

Rick pointed to something. “They’re showing the first Terminator film. The second one’s only just come out. Just like you,”

 

Ford went bright red and started coughing. Rick laughed. Ford shot him a glare, his eyes watering. “I hate you,”

 

“Love you too,” Rick snorted, kissing Ford’s cheek. Ford whacked his shoulder playfully

 

“Get off me.” He smirked. “You want to watch the film or not?”

 

Rick laid back on the couch. “I don’t really care, I’ve seen it a dozen times anyway. It’s a good movie. Apparently the second one is better, though.”

 

“What are they even about?”

 

Rick looked surprised for a moment, then shrugged. “Forgot you got chucked into that portal in ‘83. This came out the year after you went missing. It’s basically a human-like robot that gets sent back from the future to kill the man in charge of leading a war against the robots. It’s a good movie. The animation is a little shit, but what do you expect?”

 

Ford laid against Rick’s shoulder and put the film on. It was already about halfway through. As the movie progressed, he found himself scoffing more and more often. “That’s ridiculous. Time travel is utter bullshit. There’s no way in Hell any of this could ever happen.”

 

Rick rolled his eyes. “It’s a movie, Ford. It doesn’t have to make perfect sense. At least there’s some sort of science behind it.”

 

Ford gestured to the TV. “Yeah, but come  _ on,  _ Rick. That thing would have killed her long before she could press the button so that machine crushed it.”

 

Rick shoved Ford up. “It’s just a movie, Ford. Don’t get so worked up over it. Is the pie ready yet?”

 

“Shit! I forgot about that!” Ford leaped up from the couch and ran back into the kitchen. He opened the oven door. “It’s fine. It’s just about ready!”

 

“Sweet,” Rick got up. He stood just behind Ford as the shorter man put on a pair of oven gloves and lifted the pie out of the oven, setting it onto the counter. It smelled wonderful and was a crisp golden brown colour on top. “Looks great,”

 

Ford pointed to the fridge. “Can you get the salad out, please? Oh, and a couple of plates.”

 

Rick nodded, setting down the plates on the table and getting the bag of salad out. He set out some cutlery and two glasses of water. Ford placed the pie down in the middle of the table and got a sharp knife, cutting through the middle of the pie before cutting out two portions and setting one down onto each plate. He covered the rest of the pie with tin foil and left it on the counter as he and Rick served themselves some salad and began to eat.

 

“Mmm.” Rick mumbled through a mouthful of pie. “This is really good.”

 

“Thanks, my mom used to show us how to cook a lot when we were at home. My brother never paid much attention but I loved cooking.” Ford replied. “... Stanley preferred buying food from takeaways and kiosks.”

 

Rick shrugged and kept eating. “This is better than most of the stuff I’ve bought ready-made.”

 

“That’s because it’s actually  _ fresh,  _ rather than batch-produced with a ton of preservatives and salt in it.” Ford pointed out. “Most, if not all, of the stuff you buy in the shops has a ton of artificial junk in it that makes it last longer so they can sell more of it without it going off.”

 

“Seems fair,” Rick replied. “I mean, they’ve gotta make money somehow, right? And they can’t have food going off because they’d have to keep making more, and that costs money.”

 

“Exactly,” Ford pointed his fork at Rick , before spearing a piece of chicken and putting it into his mouth. 

 

The pair finished their meal and Ford got up to put the plates in the sink. Rick held up a hand. “Oh, no, Fordsy. You go and watch TV. I’ll clear up.”

 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s feeling helpful.” He remarked. He got up and went back into the living room.

 

Rick grabbed the plates and cutlery and put them in the sink, running a little hot water into the wash basin.  He stuck the leftover pie into the fridge for later and pulled out a flask from his lab coat pocket. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Ford wasn’t there. Satisfied, Rick unscrewed the cap and took a quick swig of the booze before tucking the flask back into his pocket and joining Ford on the couch. Ford glanced at him as he sat down.

 

Rick leaned against the back of the sofa. “So, reckon we should keep working on the ship?”

 

Ford shrugged. “Haven’t got anything else to be doing, why not?”

 

The pair got up from the couch and headed out of the apartment. They walked around to the garage and soon got to work. By the time Ford had finished the gearbox, the chassis was built and Rick was already moving on to the exhaust system. They worked for a few hours almost non-stop, only taking short breaks to get a drink now and then. By the time five o’clock rolled around, they weren’t far off completion. All that was left was to fit the machinery to the chassis and finish building the shell of the vehicle.

 

Ford stood back to admire their handywork. “Not bad, Sanchez. Not bad.”

 

Rick stood beside him, one arm around his shoulders. “Well, it’s your work too.” He grinned, pecking Ford’s cheek. Ford smirked, wrapping his own arm around Rick’s waist. 

 

“Should we head back?”

 

“Yeah,” Rick stretched his arms out and yawned. “I need coffee.”

 

Ford rolled his eyes and grabbed Rick’s wrist. “Well come on, then. Let’s go and get some.” Rick smirked and let Ford pull him back to the apartment block. A few people were standing outside, drinking and smoking. The pair ignored the sly remarks they received. In the elevator, Rick couldn’t help but grin as he looked at the oil and grease on Ford’s face. 

 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

 

Rick’s grin widened and he cupped Ford’s face with one hand, wiping the grease off with his thumb. “You’re all dirty.”

 

Ford smirked a bit. “So are you. You’ve got oil in your hair.” He put his hand over the top of Rick’s and pulled it away from his face. He dropped his arm back to his side, but held onto Rick’s hand, squeezing it lightly. The elevator doors slid open and the pair returned to the apartment. Ford kicked his shoes off and went to sit down in the living room. 

 

Rick grabbed his wrist. He pulled Ford round to face him, wiping Ford’s cheek with his sleeve. “You’ve still got crud on your face.”

 

“Then I’ll go and take a shower, once you’ve washed the oil out of your hair.” Ford smirked. 

 

Rick paused, his hand on Ford’s shoulder, looking at his face. “Anyone ever told you that you have really nice eyes?”

 

Ford snorted with laughter. “Only my optician back when I was a teenager.”

 

“Well, that makes two people,” Rick leaned in and pressed his lips against Ford’s, his hand cupping Ford’s cheek again. Ford wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck, biting Rick’s lower lip gently. Rick responded by opening his mouth slightly, allowing Ford to run his tongue across the roof of Rick’s mouth and on the inside of his cheeks. Rick put his other hand on Ford’s hip, rubbing his hand back and forth. Ford ran a hand through Rick’s hair, ignoring the way the motor oil stuck to his fingers. 

 

Rick pulled back, laying his forehead against Ford’s. “God you’re amazing.”

 

“I know,” Ford responded. He pressed a quick kiss to Rick’s mouth before heading into the kitchen to scrub the oil off his hands. “Seriously, though, go and wash your hair. It’s filthy,” 

 

Rick laughed and headed into the bathroom. “Fine.” The bathroom door clicked shut behind him. Ford rolled his eyes, still scrubbing to try and get the motor oil out from underneath his fingernails. Once he was satisfied that his hands were clean, he filled up the kettle again and put it on the stand, ready to boil when Rick was out. He got two mugs out of the cupboard, set them on the side and starting to clean up the dirty dishes from earlier. He was just putting away the last plate when Rick came out of the bathroom. His hair was still damp, dripping onto the back of his shirt and onto the floor. 

 

Ford chucked him a small hand towel. “Mop up the floor. Your hair is dripping everywhere.”

 

Rick tossed the towel onto the floor and moved it around with his foot, mopping up the droplets of water. He picked the towel up, bundled it up and threw it back at Ford. It landed on his head, the material unfolding and flopping into his eyes. Rick snorted. “Better?”

 

Ford pulled the towel off his head and turned round, a playful smirk on his face. He rolled the towel up into a tight rope and flicked Rick with it. The material smacked the scientist’s arm, eliciting a yelp. “Yeah, better,” Ford snorted.

 

Rick’s eyes narrowed. Smirking, he took a step forward and wrenched the towel out of Ford’s hand. He tossed it on the floor and pressed Ford up against the kitchen cupboards. Ford had to lean right back to avoid headbutting Rick in the face. Rick grinned. “You little weasel,”

  
Ford laughed and grabbed Rick’s collar. “You love me anyway though, don’t you?” He retorted, pulling Rick forward into a kiss. 


	11. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford explains why he's so self-conscious about his hands. Rick's been hiding something from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shall continue to get more gay the more I write. I might do a PWP chapter at some point, if I can manage to write one that's anywhere near half-decent. That would mean I'd have to bump the rating up, but oh well.

It took the two men another week to finish getting the ship constructed. They’d found a pair of old car seats at the dump and had used them for seating in the front, with an old bench in the back for any extra passengers. The steering wheel was taken out of an old car they’d found by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. The wheels were small aircraft wheels. Ford had managed to persuade the owner of a cropduster nearby to let them have the wheels, since the plane itself was incredibly old and falling to pieces. The plane had been decommissioned after it was deemed too dangerous to fly. The only things that were actually new were the stereo and the air conditioning, since it was cheaper, easier and quicker to just buy them rather than build them. 

 

Now, the pair were standing in the garage, wiping the last of the grease and oil from the ship’s sides. Ford was practically covered head-to-toe in motor oil; he’d been underneath the ship, making sure the exhaust system was attached properly and that the engine wasn’t going to fall out during flight. He had streaks of oil all over his clothes and droplets on his face, his glasses smeared and dirty. Rick wasn’t much better off, his old work shirt and lab coat stained and his hair almost black with oil. The old jeans he had been wearing had dirty hand prints all over them. There was the odd streak of grease on his face, too. 

 

Ford tossed the rag he’d been using onto the floor and looked down at his clothes, then over at Rick. “Dear Moses we need a shower.”

 

Rick raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “You’ve got more grease on your clothes than there is in a fast-food restaurant.”

 

Ford rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk. Have you  _ seen  _ the colour of your hair?”

 

Rick snorted and headed towards the door, gesturing for Ford to follow him. “Come on, then. The ship’s done; we may as well go and get cleaned up.”

 

Ford followed Rick out, pulling the garage door shut behind him. As they walked back to the apartment, Ford subtly slid his hand over Rick’s, his fingers interlocking with the scientist’s. Rick squeezed his hand and flashed him a grin. They separated once they were in view of the apartment block, however, as they saw a group of their neighbours standing around outside. Before they got to the front door, one of them shouted at Ford. “Freak!”

 

Ford clenched his fists and didn’t turn to face them, his eyes fixed on the front door to the apartment block. He kept walking. Rick, however, felt his hand drift towards the small blaster at his hip. “What did you just say?”

 

Ford grabbed Rick’s arm, trying to pull him away. “Rick, drop it. It doesn’t matter.”

 

Rick didn’t seem to acknowledge Ford. His eyes narrowed, fixed on the speaker, a tall and rather well-built man with greasy black hair and a studded leather jacket who was leaning against the wall, beer can in his hand. Rick’s fingers closed around the handle of the blaster. “What did you just say to him, you bastard?”

 

The man pushed himself up off the wall and sauntered over, getting right up in Rick’s face. “I called him a freak. What’s it to you, Sanchez?”

 

In a flash, Rick had knocked the can of beer from the man’s hand and had a blaster against the man’s forehead. “He happens to be my friend. I don’t exactly appreciate others calling my friends freaks.”

 

“Rick.” Ford snapped. “Just leave it.”

 

“You’d better listen to your boyfriend, there, Sanchez.” The man didn’t seem particularly fazed by the blaster against his forehead. Ford felt himself go bright red.

 

“Seems you hit the nail on the head,” a second person, a woman wearing a short skirt and a tattered denim jacket with a plain dark red shirt walked over. “Look. Your little freak has gone bright red.”

 

Rick responded by cocking the blaster and putting his finger on the trigger. “I will blast your lack-of-brains to Hell if you don’t leave us alone.”

 

“Rick!” Ford hissed. “Put the gun away and let’s just go before someone gets hurt.”

 

Rick glanced at Ford. He looked back at the man in the leather jacket and grunted, putting the blaster back into the holster at his hip. “Fine.”

 

Ford breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the volatile situation had been diffused. “Good, now let’s just go.”

 

Rick nodded and headed back towards the front door, Ford by his side. As they left, the man in the leather jacket shouted at them again. “Yeah, you just listen to your freak and walk away!”

 

Rick grabbed the blaster and whirled around, firing a well-aimed blast directly at the man’s chest. The man let out a cry and crumpled to the ground. Ford let out a sharp cry, before Rick grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside the building. “Relax, I set it to ‘stun’. He’s fine, just knocked out.”

 

Ford narrowed his eyes. “That’s not the point! You can’t just  _ do  _ something like that!”

 

Rick shrugged, heading towards the elevator bank. “He was being an asshole. He deserved it.”

 

Ford sighed, running a six fingered hand through his hair as they waited for an elevator to arrive. Once inside and the elevator was moving upwards, he stared at his hands, his head down. He frowned. He had lost count long ago of the number of times he’d wished he was normal. For a brief period, while he was in a dimension where humans were rare, he’d almost forgotten that, to other humans, his hands were abnormal and downright  _ mutated.  _ Now that he was around others of his own species, he became more self-conscious and uncomfortable around others. Now, the extra digits were as clear as day.

 

Rick noticed Ford’s expression and frowned. He slid his hand over Ford’s left forearm. “Hey, don’t listen to what those assholes say. You’re not a freak.”

 

Ford let out a heavy sigh, stepping out of the elevator as the doors slid open. “It’s not that easy, Rick,” he said quietly, his hands sliding into his pockets.

 

Rick sighed and followed him. He unlocked the apartment. “Wanna talk about it?”

 

“After we get cleaned up,” Ford replied. “You first - wash that oil out your hair while I find us some clean clothes.”

 

Rick headed towards the bathroom, shrugging out of his dirty lab coat and shirt. He shut the door behind him and Ford heard the sound of the shower being turned on, the water hitting the tiles inside the shower cubicle. While Rick was showering, Ford found some clean clothes for himself and Rick. He left the pile for Rick - spare black trousers, a pale green sweater and another clean labcoat - outside the bathroom door and knocked on the door. “Clothes are just outside,” He called through the door.

 

Rick shouted “Thank you!” through the door before Ford went to go and get himself changed. He thoroughly washed his hands in the kitchen sink first, scrubbing the oil off his face with an old washcloth. He changed into a plain dark red shirt and some clean jeans. He put his dirty clothes in the hamper beside the washing machine. Three minutes later, he heard Rick open the bathroom door to get the clean clothes before shutting again. He emerged a moment later, fully dressed and toweling his hair dry. He dumped his dirty clothes with Ford’s and joined the other man in the living room.

 

“So,” Rick started. “Get talking. Why were you so bothered by those morons?”

 

Ford shrugged and sat down on the couch. “It’s been the same thing I’ve heard day in, day out since I was a young child.” He glanced at Rick as the scientist sat beside him. “Before I started school, I used to think that it was just like people having different coloured hair. Some people have five fingers, some have six. My mother always told me I was special and wonderful. It wasn’t until I started school when I was four that I realised how wrong I was. I was immediately ostracised by my peers and treated as if I had a learning difficulty by the teachers.

 

“As I got older, it became more apparent that I was more… academically gifted than the other children. This only resulted in more negative treatment. Instead of isolating me, the teachers tried to put me with children who were also very intelligent.” Here, Ford paused and swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat. “That… that didn’t work. I was always sat at the front of the classroom due to my poor eyesight, putting me directly in the line of sight of the others. People took every opportunity when the teacher’s back was turned to throw things at me. It didn’t stop outside lessons, either.

 

“The hallways at lunchtime were the worst. I was shoved, punched, shouted at and people used to throw food at me.” Ford covered his mouth, feeling hot tears stinging his eyes. He leaned forward. He felt Rick’s hand on his shoulder, prompting him to continue. Ford took a deep breath. “If it hadn’t been for my brother, I would have spent a great deal of my school years in the hospital.” As he said this, Ford felt his voice crack and break, tears threatening to spill down his face. He felt utterly pathetic. Here he was, emotionally breaking down in front of Rick just because he was talking about his childhood.

 

Rick didn’t say anything, allowing Ford to compose himself and take a few breaths to steady himself. After a moment, Ford calmed down enough to keep talking. He held up his left hand, spreading his fingers out. He pointed to the pale, thin scar running across the knuckle of his sixth finger. “See that?”

 

Rick held Ford’s hand, looking at the scar. “Let me guess, that was you?”

 

Ford swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Yeah. I… I was fifteen. I was stupid and naÏve. I thought that, maybe, if I cut my extra fingers off, I could finally be normal and everything would get better. I’d locked myself in the bathroom and hacked at it with a kitchen knife. I… I couldn’t get through the bone,” his bravado cracked again, threatening to break completely and send the tears falling. “Stanley broke the door down and took me to a hospital. He… he was furious… my father was furious when he eventually found out…” Ford put his hand over his mouth again, the tears finally falling.

 

Rick frowned, gently pulling Ford into his arms. He let go of Ford’s hand, wrapping his arms around Ford’s body. Ford leaned into the touch, laying his head against Rick’s shoulder. Rick pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s alright.” he murmured into Ford’s hair. “It’s okay… I know how it feels to be treated like that…” 

 

Ford couldn’t help but scoff. “Really? Rick, you’re intelligent, good-looking, witty… what’s not to love?”

 

“You opinion is biased,” Rick rolled his eyes. “I was always getting into fights with people. They constantly picked on me for some of the same reasons as you, and eventually I had enough. I ran away at the age of fourteen, and ended up in Michigan. I lived there until I was thirty and ended up getting married. My wife got pregnant, she found out what I’d done, all the people I’d killed and she kicked me out. I never got to see the birth of my kid! So I ran. I ran off and landed here. I’ve lived in this shitty apartment for years. I had to build weapons for people in order to pay rent and get food. I only stayed here ‘cause I was scared that if I left, I wouldn’t find anywhere else to go.”

 

Ford frowned and looked up at him, his brow knotting. “Guess we’ve both had it pretty shit, huh?”

 

Rick snorted. “Life’s a piece of shit, then you die.”

 

Ford shrugged, his arms snaking around Rick’s neck. “I dunno, it’s not all bad, right?”

 

Rick grinned, his own arms sliding around Ford’s waist. “Could be worse, I guess. I could have never met you.”

 

Ford laughed. “That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

 

Rick smirked. “It’s true, though,” he grabbed Ford’s collar and pulled him closer, pressing their lips together. He leaned right back on the couch so Ford was lying on top of him, not once breaking apart. Ford shifted up slightly, his arms still around Rick’s neck. The scientist’s long legs were sprawled underneath him. Ford put a hand on Rick’s chest to pull himself closer, his brow furrowing as he felt something in the pocket inside Rick’s lab coat. He pulled away from the kiss, feeling the strange, metal lump in the pocket.

 

“What’s this…?” Ford asked, pushing himself up and off of Rick, pulling back the lapel of Rick’s lab coat. Rick’s hand flew to stop him, but he was too late. There, nestled in the pocket of Rick’s lab coat, was a small flask. Ford’s eyes narrowed and he snatched it out of Rick’s pocket, standing up. “Rick?”

 

“Give that back!” Rick leaped up, reaching to grab it. 

 

Ford pulled the flask away from him. “I thought you quit drinking.” His voice was low.

 

Rick swallowed. “I d-did, but…”

 

“But nothing!” Ford snapped. “You lied! You said you’d gone cold turkey!”

 

“So what?” Rick snarled, his hands clenching into fists. “Do you have any idea what alcohol withdrawal does to a person?! I felt sick all the time! I was hallucinating! I was constantly miserable!”

 

“Rick this is  _ killing you!”  _ Ford shouted. “You are just poisoning yourself! You could  _ die!” _

 

“I don’t care!” Rick shouted back, taking a dangerous step forward. “It’s my life and I can damn well do what I want with it!”

 

Ford was shaking with rage. Tears gathered behind his eyes. The flask burned his hand. “How could you do this, after you  _ promised me you’d stop!  _ You said you’d stopped after we had that fight in the hospital!”

 

“Well I  _ lied!”  _ Rick yelled. “I lied because I didn’t  _ want  _ to stop! It was the only damn thing I had control over and like  _ hell _ I was going to let someone like  _ you  _ make me stop!”

 

Ford’s eyes narrowed further. “Someone like  _ me?  _ What the hell do you mean by that?!”

 

“Some stuck-up, dangerous know-it-all who thinks the sun shines out his ass all because he was tricked by a demon into thinking he was actually  **_special!”_ ** Rick screamed. 

 

Ford went pale, his eyes going wide. His hands shook furiously, the flask falling from his grip and hitting the floor. He felt tears in the corners of his eyes. His heart thudded wildly in his chest. A bitter laugh bubbled up from his throat. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m clearly nothing special, otherwise you would have actually cared enough about me to stop drinking. You’re just as bad as those kids back at school.” He pulled his boots back on and turned to leave.

 

Rick’s mouth was open, regret sinking in deep. “Shit… Ford I didn’t mean-”

 

“Can it!” Ford’s voice was venomous, his words coming out in a feral growl. “Guess I should have worked that out sooner. You never give a shit about anyone but yourself.”

 

With that, Ford marched to the door and pulled it open, moving to leave. Rick rushed after him, just managing to grab Ford’s right wrist before he left. “Ford  _ please!”  _

 

Ford whirled around and delivered a strong left hook to Rick’s jaw, knocking him clean off. “Let go of me,” he snarled. 

 

Rick stumbled back, one hand on his jaw. He recovered quickly, sprinting down the hall after Ford. “Stanford  _ please!  _ If you leave now, where will you go?!”

 

This made Ford halt dead in his tracks. Damnit. Rick had a point. He didn’t have anywhere else to go if he left. His anger melted away and he released a deep sigh. “Shit,” he murmured. 

 

Rick caught up to him, putting one hand on his shoulder. “Look… I’m sorry. Honest to God I am. I… I never meant to hurt you, I swear.”

 

Ford let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You were right. I shouldn’t tell you how to live your life.”

 

“Hey, stop that,” Rick put a hand under Ford’s chin, lifting his head up to look at him. “You were worried about me. I get that. I did go cold turkey, for a while, but I just kept throwing up and I was hallucinating so much. I don’t drink anywhere near as much as used to, now. I don’t get sick.”

 

Ford sighed and looked away. “I’m just scared of losing you,” he murmured quietly. 

 

“Ford…” Rick pulled him into a soft kiss. He kept his mouth closed and didn’t bite Ford’s lip. He pulled away, laying his forehead against Ford’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to keep drinking, but it’s the only thing that stopped the hallucinations and the sickness. It’s not even strong stuff and I drink hardly any of it.”

 

Ford nodded, a small smile coming onto his face. “It’s… it’s okay. Just don’t go back to drinking the same amount you were drinking before, alright? I can’t afford to lose you.”

 

Rick rolled his eyes, smiling a little himself. “You’re such a sap. Come on.” He took hold of Ford’s hand, gently pulling back towards the apartment. Once inside, Rick shut the door as Ford kicked his boots off again. Rick led him back into the living room, where he sat down on the couch. Ford took a seat next to him. 

 

The abandoned flask still lay on the carpet in front of them. Ford shot it a glare. Rick got up and picked the flask up. He gestured for Ford to follow him into the kitchen. Rick unscrewed the cap of the flask and emptied the contents straight into the kitchen sink. Ford couldn’t keep the grin off his face as Rick did so. “Better.”

 

Rick laughed, tossing the empty flask into the sink and leaving it there. He sat back down on the couch. Ford sat down next to him again, one hand holding Rick’s wrist gently. Rick let out a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry,”

 

Ford waved his concern away.”It’s alright. I’m not mad any more, I swear.”

 

Rick raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Prove it.”

 

Ford rolled his eyes, tugging on Rick’s collar to pull him into a kiss. He pulled away after a moment. “There. Proof enough?”

  
Rick’s smirk grew wider. “No,” he grinned, pulling Ford into a deeper kiss, biting at Ford’s lip gently. Ford wrapped his arms around Rick’s waist and leaned into the kiss. Rick laid back against the couch, Ford lying against him. Rick pulled away a minute later. “That’s better,”


	12. A Day to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick decides to take Ford out to an off-planet theme park for a day out. Things don't end how Ford had expected them to, however.

The fuel Rick was using for the ship was nothing like Ford had ever seen before. He wasn’t sure where he was getting it from, but it was far more efficient than any fuel Ford had come across. It burned cleanly and produced far more power per litre of fuel than any fuel from Earth. Rick hadn't told him what it was called, however, or how he was getting hold of it.

 

“Say, Rick?” Ford asked, looking across the table at him. They were eating dinner later than normal, having spent the majority of the evening out flying the ship and testing it thoroughly to make sure it was all working fine. 

 

Rick's gaze shifted upwards from his food to his boyfriend. “Yeah?”

 

“Where did you get that fuel from?”

 

Rick looked back at his plate and continued shoveling food into his mouth. “I made it.”

 

Ford wasn't all that surprised. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Rick shrugged. “It's just concentrated dark matter. It's easy to make if you've got the right ingredients.”

 

“Can I ask what those are?”

 

Rick shook his head. “Sorry, Fordsy, no matter how much I trust you, I ain’t telling you. These Zigerion scammers have been after the recipe for ages and they’ll do anything to get it from me, even manipulating those close to me. Can’t let that happen.”

 

Ford was slightly hurt, but shrugged the feeling off. Rick had a perfectly acceptable reason for keeping the recipe to himself. Ford shuddered to think what might happen if the wrong person got their hands on that kind of information. “Fair enough.”

 

“Damn right,” Rick snorted. “Can’t be too careful, Fordsy. I mean, what if that triangle bastard got hold of that recipe?”

 

Ford shuddered at the mention of Bill, the mere thought sending an icy chill down his spine. “That wouldn’t be good.” 

 

“That’s an understatement,” Rick smirked. He finished off his food and put his fork down. He rocked back in the chair, his arms stretched out above his head and his feet on the floor to prevent him falling backwards. “It would mean utter chaos.”

 

“ _ That’s  _ an understatement,” Ford grinned. He got up from the table and picked up the dirty plates, placing them on the counter beside the sink. He paused, his head down. He remembered all the times Bill had told him he was special, that he was unique, destined for greatness. It made Ford feel sick to his stomach as he reminisced all the times he actually  _ believed  _ Bill. His hands shook and he gripped the edge of the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white. 

 

“Ford?” Rick got up and stood behind him, one hand on Ford’s shoulder. “You alright?”

 

Ford swallowed and shook the thoughts away. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

 

Rick crossed his arms. “You’re lying to me. Come on. Spit it out.”

 

Ford sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I was a fool to think that Bill ever wanted to help me. I can’t believe I let him into my mind.”

 

“Hey,” Rick moved around to Ford’s side. “You’re not a fool, alright? Bill’s tricked millions of people in hundreds of different dimensions.”

 

“But I was so smart, I should have seen him for what he was. It wasn’t until my best friend almost got lost in the portal that I finally saw him for what he was.” Ford’s eyes slipped close, his head turning away. “I could have ended the world.”

 

Rick put one hand on Ford’s shoulder and the other underneath Ford’s chin, pulling his head round to meet his eyes. “Hey, quit it. You’re not the only one who’s almost ended the world.”

 

Ford still avoided Rick’s gaze, the guilt settling into the pit of his stomach. “I came the closest, though,”

 

Rick put a hand on the side of Ford’s face. “So what? You stopped him before he could get through. You blocked him from getting in, didn’t you?”

 

“I guess,” Ford shrugged. 

 

Rick pressed his lips against Ford’s gently in a soft, brief kiss. “You’re a real smart guy, okay? Bill is a sadistic monster who’s been tricking people since before he could wipe his own ass. Don’t beat yourself up because he tricked you. You could be tricked by a damn chicken and I’d still love you,”

 

Ford couldn’t stop himself smiling. He wrapped his arms around Rick’s waist and pulled him into a hug. “I’m pretty sure I’m smarter than a chicken, Rick.”

 

Rick snorted. “I dunno, I’ve met some surprisingly intelligent fowl before.”

 

“Right, I forgot one of your friends was that bird guy.”

 

“Hey, Birdperson is not a chicken!” Rick scoffed. “He’s a wonderful bird… man… thing.”

 

Ford snickered and stepped back. Rick raised an eyebrow at him. Ford frowned. “What?”

 

“You ever been to a theme park?”

 

Ford blinked at the unusual question. “Not really. I mean I went to a couple of carnivals on the pier as a kid, but we could never really afford to go to a proper theme park.”

 

“Well then, you’re in for a treat.” Rick grinned, waving around two tickets. They were printed on pale blue paper with a small roller coaster logo in the corner. 

 

Ford’s mouth fell open. “You’re serious?”

 

Rick winked at him and grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Dead serious,”

 

Ford felt like a young child opening their birthday presents. There was no other way to explain the exhilaration bubbling up inside of him. He let out a strangled squeak, unable to process any meaningful words. He launched himself forward, embracing Rick into a tight hug. Rick snorted. “You’re acting like a little kid,”

 

“So what?” Ford pulled Rick down into a kiss. His arms slid around Rick’s neck. He pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve never been to a theme park before.”

 

Rick pressed a kiss to Ford’s forehead. “Well then, get your coat. Let’s go.”

 

Ford grabbed his coat off the hook by the door and pulled his boots on, following Rick from the apartment. He was buzzing with excitement. Sure, at his age that was a little sad, but he couldn’t help it. He was utterly thrilled - he was finally getting to go to a proper theme park! He was just about to get into Rick’s old Toyota until the scientist whistled to get his attention.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

 

Ford frowned. “You said-”

 

“It’s off-planet,” Rick explained. “We’ll have to take the ship. You seriously didn’t think I’d be taking you to one of the shitty theme parks on this planet, did you?”

 

Ford coughed and scratched the back of his neck, following Rick towards the garage where the ship was being held. “No, not really.”

 

Rick rolled his eyes. “The places on this planet look like shitty parking lot burger vans compared to some of the places elsewhere. Come on, I’ll show you a  _ real  _ theme park.”

 

Ford grinned as they approached the garage. He climbed into the passenger side as Rick got in behind the wheel. Rick started the engine and pulled out of the garage, ignoring the concerned glare he was receiving from Ford. “Yeah, yeah, seatbelt. I get it.”

 

“You could die,” Ford pointed out. “What the hell would I do then?”

 

Rick heaved a sigh and pulled his seatbelt on, steering the ship upwards into the sky. “Fff _ iiine,  _ you win,”

 

Ford smirked. “Much better. At least now if we crash you won’t be sent flying through the windshield.”

 

Rick scoffed. “You saying I’m a bad driver?”

 

“No, I’m just saying that  _ if  _ we crash, at least you’re safer with the seatbelt on,” Ford looked out the window as they drove, the distant stars passing by like glimmering droplets of water in the darkened sky. 

 

Rick snorted. “You don’t have enough faith in me, Fordsy,”

 

Ford laughed. “Rick, if I had no faith in you, I would have left a long time ago,”

 

“That’s reassuring,” Rick grunted, letting a small smirk play onto his face. He steered the ship towards his left, heading towards a small, mostly-green planet not far from their current position. As they approached, Ford could make out all sorts of theme park attractions on the surface. Rick flew down to a large parking lot and landed the ship. The pair got out and headed towards the main gates. Rick fished the tickets out of his pocket.

 

They got to the entrance gates and Rick handed the tickets over. The attendant, a pale purple, almost human creature checked the tickets over and gave them the all clear. The pair passed through the turn stalls and into the main park.

 

Rick wasted no time in taking Ford’s hand in his own, muttering into his ear, “Who knows what kind of people are here. I don’t want you getting lost.”

 

Ford scoffed, but didn’t pull his hand away. “You’re acting like I’m a small child who can’t be trusted not to wander off. Honestly, Rick, give me some more credit.”

 

“I’m not worried about you wandering off,” Rick replied. “I’m worried about someone grabbing you and running off with you.”

 

Ford rolled his eyes. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”

 

Rick snorted and pressed a large, embarrassing kiss to Ford’s cheek, eliciting a yelp from Ford. Ford flushed bright red and Rick laughed. “I dunno, you blush like a damsel in distress.”

 

Ford elbowed Rick in the ribs as they walked through the park. Rick grunted, before smirking and rolling his eyes. “Fine, point made. Now would you just pick a ride so we can quit wandering around?”

 

Ford pulled Rick over to a large roller coaster. “C’mon then, let’s try this!”

 

Rick looked up at the attraction. “I dunno, Ford, it’s awfully high. Sure you won’t get sick?”

 

Ford laughed and dragged Rick into line with him. “I’ll be fine.”

 

The queue was fairly short, considering how busy the park was. There was a booth by the side of the ride’s exit where visitors to the park could purchase various pieces of merchandise printed with a photo. A large camera was mounted on a stand beside the tracks, taking photos of the people on the ride. Most of the creatures in the photo were screaming, their arms thrown up in the air. Ford made a mental note to get a good pose in for the photo of himself and Rick.

 

It took less than five minutes for Rick and Ford to make it to the front of the queue. The coaster slid to a stop in front of them and they got into the front two seats, Ford sat on Rick’s left. The ride attendant pulled the safety bar down over them and fixed it into place. Rick cast a sideways glance at Ford. “Last chance to bail, Fordsy,”   
  


Ford snorted and gripped the bar with both six-fingered hands. “Fat chance!”

 

Once the rest of the customers were strapped in, the ride attendant pressed a button on a panel and the coaster was pulled forward by a set of motors on the track. Ford leaned back slightly as the coaster was pulled up the main slope. When they got to the top, they had perhaps a moment to admire the view of the whole park before the coaster slid forward, rapidly gaining speed and swerving along the track. 

 

Ford threw his arms up in the air. “WHOA!”

 

Rick snorted, his arms up in the air along with Ford’s. His breath was stolen away as they plunged down another steep incline. The coaster moved gracefully along the tracks, momentarily going upside-down as the tracks inverted. Ford figured it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his glasses.

 

Rick spotted the camera rapidly approaching and grabbed Ford’s chin in one hand. He pulled Ford’s head around to face his and he smashed their lips together in a kiss, just as the camera took their picture. As soon as they’d passed the camera, Rick pulled away and grinned wordlessly.

 

Ford was grinning from ear to ear, laughing. The coaster slid to a stop back at the start of the ride and the attendant pulled the bars up, allowing Rick, Ford and the other riders to get out. Ford’s hair was windswept and sticking up all over the place, Rick’s even more so. Hand in hand, the pair walked through the exit to the photo collection booth. 

 

Their picture came up on screen and Ford couldn’t hold back an exhilarated laugh. The kiss looked out of place in the scene, with the other riders screaming behind them, but it was fantastic. They both had their eyes shut, Rick’s hand framing Ford’s face and mouths locked together. The attendant behind the desk brought the photo up onto a smaller monitor for them. Rick handed over a small handful of coins and random notes, buying each of them a small photo and a keyring. They tucked the items into their jacket pockets and headed towards the rest of the park.

 

Over the course of the day, they went on a total of six different roller coasters, three toboggan rides, one set of teacups (Ford nearly vomited once he got off - he had to lay down on a bench while Rick slowly gave him some cold water to drink), two go-kart rides and eight different miniature arcade-style games. They’d had lunch in the park restaurant halfway through- Ford had had a club sandwich and Rick had fish and chips - before exploring the rest of the park. By the end of the day, their feet hurt, they were almost out of money and they were exhausted. Ford had a stuffed toy tucked under one arm. Rick had insisted on playing one of the childish hook-a-floating-animal games and had won the top prize. So now Porky the Alien Pig was apparently a thing. 

 

Ford climbed into the passenger seat of the ship, tossing the stuffed toy into the back and let out a relieved sigh. His feet ached. “Wow, that was amazing!”

 

“What did I tell you, eh?” Rick grinned as he got into the driver’s side. His eyes seemed to be avoiding Ford’s. 

 

Ford frowned. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing, just thinking about how much damn money we spent.” Rick chuckled. 

 

“Good thing we’ve got leftovers in the fridge, then.” 

 

“Yeah,” Rick said. His mind seemed to be in a different place. His eyes were distant and calculative.

 

Ford sighed. “Rick would you just tell me what’s bugging you so much?”

 

Rick’s heart pounded in his ears and his palms were sweating. “I’ve got somewhere to go before we go home.”

 

“Where?”

 

“It’s a surprise,” Rick winked. His left hand slid from the steering wheel and laid on his hip, just over his pocket. He seemed to relax slightly.

 

Ford shifted in his seat. His mind was buzzing, trying to work out what Rick might be hiding. He didn’t say any more. He kept his gaze out the window, an excited grin on his face. If this was anything like their theme park trip today, Ford was looking forward to it.

 

Rick drove the ship down towards a bar, setting it down at the edge of the parking lot. The parking lot was almost full. Rick parked the ship and turned the engine off. Ford could see his hands shaking. His eyes were avoiding Ford. Taking a deep breath, Rick got out of the ship and gestured for Ford to follow him. Ford got out of the ship and walked over to stand by Rick’s side.

 

Rick held a piece of paper in his hands, a few details scrawled onto it. A date, a time and a location, along with a name. He looked up at the bar in front of them, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. This was it - he couldn’t turn back now. He checked his watch. One minute to go.

 

Ford put a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Hey, Rick? What’s going on?”

 

Rick took a deep breath, refusing to look at Ford. “You’ll see.” His voice wavered and he jammed the piece of paper into his pocket. He strode forwards, heading towards the large rubbish bins at the side of the bar’s entrance. Numerous creatures of many different species were filing in and out, some hanging around outside smoking. None of them paid the two humans any attention.

 

Ford frowned and looked at the doorway. “Aren’t we going in?”

 

Rick shook his head. “No… not yet, anyway.” He turned around and looked Ford dead in the eyes. Ford could see that the scientist’s eyes were full of fear.

 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Why do you look so worried?”

 

Rick swallowed hard. There was a noise behind him and he turned around. A large, green portal was splashed on the brick wall of the bar. Three figures stepped out. Ford was shocked to see that they were Gromflomites, all wearing matching uniforms and holding large blasters. They all had an identical Galactic Federation logo pinned to their uniforms. 

 

“Rick…?” Ford turned a sceptical gaze onto the scientist standing in front of him. “What’s going on? I thought you hated these guys.”

 

In an instant, two of the Gromflomite officers seized Ford, pulling his arms around behind his back. His wrists were cuffed together tightly. Ford let out a startled cry. He looked over at Rick to see the third officer handing Rick a large sack and some documentation papers. “R-Rick…?”

 

Rick swallowed and cast a quick glance at Ford. He took the money and a pen from the officer, signing the documents. He handed one copy of the documents back and put the others in his pocket.

 

“Rick!” Ford shouted. “You’d better tell me what the  _ fuck  _ is going on  _ right now!” _

 

Rick took in a deep breath, his hands trembling. “I’m sorry, Ford.”

 

Ford’s mouth fell open and his heart skipped a beat. “WHAT?! What the hell are you doing?! This had better be a joke Sanchez!” He struggled violently, trying to break free. 

 

“It’s no laughing matter.” The Gromflomite with the documents stood in front of Ford. “Stanford Filbrick Pines of Dimension 46’\, you are under arrest by the Galactic Federation for crimes against the Federation and its citizens. Crimes include robbery, assault and murder.”

 

_ “WHAT?!”  _ Ford cried. “This is ridiculous! Rick! Tell them I didn’t do it!”

 

“Mr Sanchez has already handed you over.” The Gromflomite said. “A bounty for ten thousand Schmeckles had been put on your head for your capture. Mr Sanchez here just so happened to be the one to claim the rewards.”

 

Ford turned a furious gaze onto Rick. “You sold me out?! You lying, cheating motherfucker! After I helped you?! Did I really mean nothing to you?!”

 

Rick’s gaze turned cold. “No, you didn’t.” His voice was venomous. “I only kept you around so I could hand you over and make a ton of money. Were you really stupid enough to believe I’d keep you around?!”

 

Ford felt hot tears stinging his eyes. “Rick  _ please!  _ Tell me you’re lying!”

 

Rick scoffed and turned his back on Ford. “Take him away.”

 

Ford could have sworn he felt his heart stop. The two officers holding him dragged him towards the portal. Ford struggled with all of his might, but it was no use. “RICK PLEASE!”

 

Rick didn’t turn around as Ford was pulled through the portal. The final officer stepped through after him and the portal closed, the alleyway going dark again as the light faded. He was trembling again. His heart pounded in his chest and a sickening feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. His knees buckled beneath him and he hit the concrete, head bowed low. He covered his mouth to repress sobs. The sack of money lay on the ground by his side, forgotten.

 

“I’m sorry,” Rick choked out, tears running down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	13. What A Fool He Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford gets locked up. Rick regrets everything.

The prisoner check-in was a huge area maybe two or three hundred yards long and about half that distance wide. All sorts of creatures were walking around, some in cuffs and some in uniforms. Ford had a collar around his neck and was being led along by a Gromflomite towards the desk. Ford’s wrists were cuffed together, he had shackles around his ankles and the guards had even gone as far as to give him a muzzle. It wasn’t particularly tight, still allowing him to speak, but it made it impossible for him to bite anybody. Ford wasn’t entirely sure why the guards felt that it was necessary, but here he was. 

 

He was brought up to the main desk where a receptionist - Ford recognised the species as an Ixion - looked over to them. Ford avoided the receptionist’s gaze and stared firmly at his feet. The guard holding the chain of the collar addressed the Ixion. “This is Stanford Pines of Dimension 46’\,”

 

The Ixion nodded and punched a few letters and symbols into a computer. “Wanted for murder, assault, armed robbery, evading capture, threat to public safety and unauthorised interdimensional travel.”

 

“Hey! That wasn’t my fault! My brother pushed me!” Ford snapped.

 

“That’s what they all say,” The guard grunted. The Gromflomite looked back at the Ixion. “He was handed over by Rick Sanchez of Dimension E-292. As a result of this, Sanchez E-292 shall be pardoned for his lesser crimes of robbery and vehicle theft.”

 

Again, the receptionist nodded and typed something into his computer. Ford let out a heavy sigh. Part of him thought he was in some sort of bizarre fever dream, where none of this was really happening. The rest of him was scolding him for being so much of an idiot as to trust Rick in the first place. The scientist didn’t give a shit about anybody but himself. How could Ford have ever believed otherwise?

 

Ford’s right hand was pulled forward and all six of his fingers were pressed against a pad of ink. His fingers were then pressed against a piece of paper, then a scanner. His fingerprints appeared on a monitor, along with his name, his date of birth, his home dimension and a long list of his crimes. The receptionist typed away at the keyboard while the guard wiped the excess ink from Ford’s hand.

 

The Ixion finished whatever they were doing on the computer and gestured for the Gromflomite to move along, passing over some documentation. The guard did so, dragging Ford over to another part of the chamber. Ford had no choice but to go with the guard willingly. He couldn’t fight, not with these chains all over him. He had no weapons, either, something the guards had thoroughly made sure of. Ford was brought over to another room, where he was shoved down into a rough, plastic chair far too large for him. Another guard, this one a male Gazorpazorp, removed the cuffs from Ford’s wrists and rolled up the left sleeve of the orange jumpsuit the human was wearing. 

 

Before Ford had time to react, the guard had strapped him down to the arms of the chair and held a rather large tattoo gun. Ford cringed. He’d already had enough tattoos for one lifetime. The horrific image of his ‘muse’ was still engraved permanently all over his back. The Gazorpazorp held the needle of the gun against the skin on Ford’s forearm and turned it on. Instantly, Ford felt a sharp, pricking sensation on his skin. He let out a sharp hiss and turned his head away. Blood beaded on the spots where the gun had made contact. A second creature, one Ford didn’t recognise, wiped the blood away with a paper towel. 

 

Eventually, Ford felt the gun be taken away and he looked back. He was mortified to see that a barcode had been etched into his skin, the flesh reddened and still bloody. Underneath the barcode, near his wrist, the code ‘46’\ - S.F.P’ had been etched, representing his home dimension and his initials. The guard removed the straps from his arms and he was dragged to his feet. He was hauled from the room back into the main check-in area. He was brought over to a set of elevator banks and shoved inside. The elevator plummeted downwards. Ford gasped, feeling as though his stomach had dropped out his legs. 

 

When they arrived, Ford was brought down to what appeared to be a large block of showers. A guard stood outside the doorway. Ford was hauled through by one of the Gromflomites while the others stood guard outside. The muzzle over his mouth was removed, as were the cuffs, shackles and collar. The guard pointed at the clothes Ford was wearing. “Strip.”

 

Ford swallowed, one hand rubbing his neck where the collar had rubbed. “What?”

 

“I said, strip. Take your clothes off.” The guard held up a blaster.

 

Ford bit his lip and averted his gaze. He pulled the sweater off and tossed it onto the floor. One by one, he removed the clothes he was wearing until he was left in just his boxers.

 

“‘Strip’ means  _ completely,”  _ the guard emphasised.

 

Ford went scarlet, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He was already uneasy enough with his body exposed, showing off a large collection of tattoos and scars. He turned his back on the guard completely and pulled his boxers down to his ankles, kicking the clothing off into the pile on the floor. He kept his legs crossed slightly and his hands over his groin.

 

The guard grabbed Ford’s arm and brought him over to the showers. “Hey, I don’t like this any more than you do, pal, but it’s my job, unfortunately.”

 

Ford screwed his eyes shut, his face warm from embarrassment. A moment later, he felt hot water pouring over his body as the shower was turned on. A mixture of blood and dirt was washed from his body and down the drain. Once he was clean, the guard tossed Ford a towel, a pair of plain white shoes and a jumpsuit.

 

“Get dressed.”

 

Ford rubbed himself dry with the towel and kept the fabric around his waist. He pulled the jumpsuit on and toweled his hair dry. When Ford was properly dried and dressed, the guard led him out of the showers and back towards the elevator. He was shoved inside, where he was immediately cuffed again. They left the muzzle off, this time.

 

The human was dragged from the elevator as soon as it arrived on the correct floor. Head still spinning, Ford was brought over to a large set of heavy-duty iron doors, where two Gromflomites stood guard outside. The guard on the left pressed a few numbers into a keypad and the doors slid open, allowing the guard holding onto Ford to bring him forward. He was led down the hallway to an empty cell. The door was unlocked and he was promptly shoved inside.

 

Ford landed with a harsh grunt on the floor of the cell. Before he had the chance to get up, he was pinned down and held there. The rattle of a chain could be heard before something was firmly fixed onto the shackles around his ankles. The cuffs on his wrists were removed. The chain attached to the collar was attached to the chain between his ankles. The weight on his back was removed and he scrambled to his feet, just in time to see the door of the cell swing shut and one of the guards locking the door. Ford instinctively took a few quick steps forward. The chain around his ankles pulled taught, stopping him from reaching the bars. He knelt down and tugged at the chain, trying to tear it off him. He had no luck - it was fixed firmly into the wall. 

 

Growling in frustration, Ford let go of the chain and sat down on the floor. He scratched at the skin beneath the collar. His struggling had caused the skin to become irritated and it was uncomfortable. He allowed his eyes to drift around the cell. It was tiny, far smaller than either of the enclosures back at that awful zoo. It was less than ten foot by eight foot, maybe seven foot high. There was a rickety, metal-framed bed against one wall with a thin, stained mattress on top of it. Ford walked over and sat down on it. The sheets were almost paper thin and the pillow was lumpy. There was a sink and a mirror on the back wall, next to a cubicle in the corner that Ford could only assume housed a toilet. The cell itself had stone walls and a concrete floor. The metal bars running across one wall were thick and a gentle buzz told him that they would give him a nasty electric shock if he touched them. The chain was bolted to the centre of the back wall near the floor. 

 

Ford fell onto his back, his arms spread out over the bed at his sides. What the hell was he supposed to do now? There was no way in Hell he was getting out of here - not on his own, anyway. The truth had fully sunk in by now. Rick was the one who did this to him. Rick handed him over to the Federation. After all they’d done together, Rick had still decided that a large sum of cash was better than having Ford around. It made Ford feel sick to his stomach. He’d  _ loved  _ Rick and  _ this  _ was how Rick repaid him? Keep him around long enough to make Ford believe that he cared, then toss Ford aside like yesterday’s newspaper? 

 

A cold, dead weight settled in the pit of Ford’s stomach. This was all his fault. He’d been an idiot and he’d trusted Rick. It was clear as day that the scientist didn’t care about anybody but himself. How Ford could have been enough of a fool to trust him in the first place was a mystery. Rick was a selfish, arrogant jerk. Ford decided he’d had enough of trusting people. He’d been chewed up and spit out too many times. If Rick ever came back, if he ever visited Ford, Ford wasn’t going to give him the time of day. Rick wasn’t worth a minute of Ford’s time.

 

It was Ford’s turn to be selfish.

 

\-----------

 

Rick stared at the blank television screen, a whiskey bottle in his right hand. He took large swigs from it every so often. His eyes were bloodshot, a wad of used tissues clenched in his other hand. He was drunk. His eyes were unfocused, his head fuzzy. He’d made the worst mistake of his life and he was absolutely certain Ford would never forgive him for this. Rick would never forgive himself, either. He’d made a horrific mistake and the relationship he’d had with Ford had been completely shattered. 

 

Rick took another swig from the bottle and grunted, finding it was empty. He threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered. The small fragments of glass landed amongst the fibres of the carpet. The remaining droplets of alcohol from the bottle dripped down the wall and onto the carpet, leaving small stains on the fabric. Two more empty bottles sat on the floor beside the sofa. He was dealing with this the way he dealt with everything - with alcohol. 

 

Rick looked over at a photograph sitting on the side table. It was of himself and Ford at a party. Rick had brought Ford along to a party being hosted by one of Rick’s friends, Squanchy. Birdperson had been the one to take the photograph. Rick was utterly shitfaced and had one arm draped around Ford’s shoulders. Ford was rather tipsy, his cheeks flushed and his arm around Rick’s waist. They both had sloppy, unabashed grins on their faces. Rick clenched his hands into fists, a lump forming in his throat. He picked the photograph up and held it in his hands, running his thumb across the embossed wooden frame.

 

_ Ford stumbled over, a red plastic cup clenched in one hand. Rick looked over to him from his position on the couch, next to Birdperson. Ford’s eyes were slightly glazed over and he was blushing slightly. Rick snorted. “You’re a fucking lightweight, Fordsy.” _

 

_ “Am not!” Ford protested. He swayed on his feet, some of the drink from his cup being splashed onto the carpet. Rick got up and stood in front of Ford with his arms crossed.  _

 

_ “Your face says otherwise,” the scientist smirked. _

 

_ “It appears your hexadactylic friend appears to have consumed more alcohol than the volume his body is able to cope with,” Birdperson said. “It would be wise, Rick, if you prevented him from having any more to drink this evening.” _

 

_ “Birdperson’s right, Fordsy,” Rick plucked the plastic cup from Ford’s wavering grasp and set it down on the coffee table. “You’re drunk, and one of us has to be able to drive us home. And it ain’t gonna be me.” _

 

_ Ford hiccupped and rubbed his eyes. “‘M fine, Rick. Promise.” _

 

_ Rick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to cra-uurp-crash here tonight. You’ll kill us if you fly the ship.” _

 

_ Ford groaned and stumbled forward. Rick caught him under the arms before he could topple over. Rick slung an arm around Ford’s shoulders to keep him upright. “Seriously, you’re staying here until you’ve slept th-uurp-this off.” _

 

_ One of Ford’s arms crept around Rick’s waist. Ford looked at Rick through his hazed vision. “I love you, you know that right?” _

 

_ Rick rolled his eyes again and smirked. “Yeah, I know. Love you too,” Rick leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ford’s mouth. Ford pulled away, grinning like an idiot, his eyes half-lidded. _

 

_ Birdperson stood up, a small camera held in one hand. “If you would like, Rick, I could photograph you and your partner here for you to save as a memento.” _

 

_ “Yeah, go on - uurp - then,” Rick grinned, standing side-by-side with Ford, one arm draped around his boyfriend’s shoulders. Ford kept his arm around Rick’s waist.  _

 

_ Birdperson held the camera up to his face to focus it. “Alright, on the count of three. One.” He put a finger on the button. “Two, three.” _

 

_ “Wubba Lubba Dub Dub!” Rick grinned as the camera flashed. A moment later, the photo was printed out onto photographic paper. Birdperson passed the photo to Rick and put the camera down on the table. _

 

Rick sighed, looking at the expression on Ford’s face in the photo. The guilt that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach began to boil again, making him feel sick. Rick narrowed his eyes and threw the photo across the room. The glass frame shattered upon impact with the wall, but the photo remained untorn. Rick leaned right forward on the sofa, his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands.

 

“Wubba Lubba Dub Dub.” He said miserably.

 

\-----

 

Ford sat on the bed cross-legged, picking at a stray fibre sticking out of the knee of his jumpsuit. These colours were hideous, but he supposed that was the point. They made him stand out in a large crowd, meaning there was no means of him simply just walking out of here. He’d already tried for hours to get that stupid shackle off his ankle, but it wouldn’t budge. The skin underneath it was now red and it itched horribly. Ford had tugged and tugged to the point where the skin had actually burst and started bleeding. He’d given up after that. There was no way he was going to be able to get that thing off his leg. Even if there was, how would he get out? He was locked in, surrounded by guards and he had no weapons. 

 

Ford let out a sigh and let his hand fall to his side. There was no point in fighting it. He’d hit the end of the road. He’d either have to spend multiple years in this place, only to be released as an old man, or live the rest of his life and eventually die here. The latter seemed like the more likely option. He fell backwards onto the bed, lying on his back gazing up at the ceiling. He could hear other prisoners shouting and fighting in their restraints up and down the hall. He rolled over onto one side and stared at the wall.

 

Rick had put him here.

 

That was the one thought that kept swirling through his mind. Rick was responsible for this. Rick had handed him over for a large sum of money because Rick  _ didn’t care.  _ Rick didn’t give a damn about anybody but himself. Rick was prepared to step on anyone and everyone necessary in order to get what he wanted. 

 

Ford had, for a brief period of time, really enjoyed being around Rick. It was that which was making his so hard. Ford had really thought that Rick cared about him. He’d been wrong. Still, that didn’t stop Ford from wishing Rick was here now. Even though most of him utterly loathed the scientist, part of Ford’s brain missed him. He missed having someone to talk to. Someone to build projects with. Someone to go out with. Someone to just  _ be there  _ for him, be there  _ with him. _

 

Who was he kidding? Who would ever want to hang around with a freak like him? It’s no wonder Rick handed him over. Anybody in their right mind would have instantly handed him over for a ton of cash. 

 

Why Rick, though? Why did it have to be the first person he’d actually loved? Was it something Ford did? Was this his fault? No. Rick was to blame here, not Ford. Rick was selfish. He didn’t care about anyone but himself. That was obvious. Ford had been an idiot to have ever believed otherwise.

 

Ford felt hot tears burning behind his eyes. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face furiously. 

  
“Damnit, Rick.” He murmured, picking at a stray flake of paint on the wall with his fingernail. "Don't leave me here."


	14. A Prisoner's Life is a Tough One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford learns that the Federal Prison is far rougher than he ever could have expected. Rick decides to try and make amends.

Ford paced up and down the cell, the chain on his ankle clanking against the stone floor. His hands were folded behind his back. He could hear a few other prisoners having a loud argument down the hall. By now, he’d gotten used to the sound of fighting, swearing, shouting and general rough housing from the other prisoners. It had become background noise surprisingly quickly. Ford had lost count of how many Earth days he’d been stuck here, but it had been almost three weeks going off the time set by the prison. 

 

The prison was nothing Ford could have ever imagined. For one, it was dirty. The walls were smeared with grime, dirt and various bodily fluids from countless different alien species. The bed was thick with dust and the mattress was stained. The stone in the walls were cracked and chipped. The smell in the place was  _ awful -  _ a mixture of body odour, raw sewage, blood and just general filth. The background noise was constant, even at night. Ford had spent many nights laying awake on his bed, attempting to get some sleep but unable to due to the noise the other prisoners were making. 

 

Ford had learned very quickly that the guards were only there to keep the prisoners inside. They didn’t seem to care what they did to each other inside the walls of the prison. Over the short period of time he’d been there, Ford had seen no less than eighteen fights, three deaths, and countless arguments. Ford was one of the smallest prisoners there - the majority of the creatures being held here were at least twice his size and much stronger. He’d so far been lucky enough to avoid being in any fights, but he had already seemed to have become a possible target. 

 

The meal times were the worst. Three times a day - seven thirty AM, twelve thirty PM and six PM - all of the prisoners on Ford’s level of the prison were brought from their cells into a large dining area where they were each given a meal. The food itself was disgusting. Ford often ended up having to race towards the bathrooms (there were a separate set of restrooms adjacent to the dining area to prevent prisoners walking back to their cells too early) to throw his up. It made his stomach churn and it tasted like decaying, dead cat and smelled even worse. He had no idea how the other prisoners managed to successfully consume theirs. After a little while, it looked as though the guards had managed to work out that Ford couldn’t eat what they were feeding him and had tried several other things. They hadn’t at all been happy about having to supply a special diet for the only human in the whole prison, but federal law forced them to do it. Ford was currently on a diet of porridge and banana for breakfast, peanut butter sandwiches for lunch and chicken, pasta and salad for dinner. It was horribly bland, but at least this was edible.

 

Ford was aware of the diet a human needed in order to stay healthy. He knew that the current diet was going to have some long-term health effects (a lack of iron in his blood, for example) but for now it was enough to keep his strength up. He was still underweight, despite all the meals he’d had while living with Rick. 

 

Ford felt a chill run down his spine at the memory of the scientist. He clenched his hands into fists and punched the stone wall. He was still furious. Furious at Rick for doing something like that, and furious at himself for being such an idiot as to trust Rick. Ford took a deep breath and resumed pacing. Being angry at Rick was not going to help him get out of here. Ford had examined every square inch of his cell and couldn’t seem to find any weakness in it. He couldn’t find a single thing that he could possibly use to get out, nor a single thing to break down to escape. He was aware of the fact that the entire prison was a huge ship, suspended in the vacuum of space. He knew he couldn’t simply break down the wall to get out - the ship was sealed with heavy cast iron to keep it airtight. No, Ford would need to somehow get out of his cell without alerting any of the guards or any of the prisoners (they would likely kick off and start shouting, thereby drawing attention to Ford). He would have to make his way down to where the ships were, steal one and then get out. That was a physical impossibility. Being the only human in the entire prison meant that he stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d never make it ten yards from his cell.

 

Ford sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor. He propped his elbows up on his knees and put his head in his hands, looking at the cells opposite his own. Several of the creatures inside were fighting again. The brawl was bloody and fierce. Claws, teeth, tails fought viciously as the beasts were locked in battle. Fifteen years ago, Ford would have been utterly fascinated to see something like this. Now, after spending ten years travelling through multiple dimensions and spending three weeks locked in a prison full of fighting, angry prisoners, any interest he had once had in the fight was long gone. He barely flinched when one creature slammed another forcefully against the wall, leaving a bloody smear on the stone. 

 

A loud bell rang out across the hall, signalling that it was lunchtime. One by one, the prisoners were let out of their cells by guards. The cuffs around their ankles were unscrewed from the chains in the walls, allowing them to leave. Ford growled ferally as he was brought out, showing off his teeth. He didn’t care about acting like a wild animal here - it made him seem almost normal compared to the others. He snapped his teeth at one guard in particular. This one seemed to take particular enjoyment from making Ford’s life even more of a misery. Ford only ended up earning himself a sharp bash to the head with the handle of a blaster. He grunted sharply and kept walking. 

 

Ford was sat down at a table at the far edge of the dining area while the other prisoners lined up to get their food. A peanut butter sandwich was dumped on the table in front of Ford. Ford shot the guard a glare before picking it up and sinking his teeth into it. As much as he hated this restricted diet, he did admit that it felt so good to be eating human food again. Ford promised himself he’d never take Earth food for granted ever again - it was a rare commodity in the multiverse. Ford watched as the other prisoners collected their food and took seats at the other tables.

 

Ford wasn’t paying any particular attention to anyone else until a large ape-like creature (a Crizeron, if he remembered correctly) sat down opposite him at the table. Ford lowered his gaze as he finished eating. He kept his head down low and made a move to stand up. Maybe if he hid in the bathrooms he’d avoid any conflict.

 

“Hey, human.”

 

_ Shit. _

 

Ford swallowed and sat back down again. “Yes?”

 

“Why do you get to eat that while the rest of us are stuck eating this shit?”

 

Ford coughed and looked away. “Well, I physically can’t digest what you eat. It makes me horrifically sick. I’ve been put on a diet of human food since it’s the only thing I can consume safely.”

 

The Crizeron snorted and slammed a fist down on the table. Ford damn near jumped out of his skin. “Special diet my ass,” the creature grunted. “You just think you’re better than all of us because you’re the only human. Isn’t that right?”

 

“N-no!” Ford cursed at the way his voice squeaked in fear. He balled his hands up into fists, although he had no idea how he ever had a chance against the beast sat opposite him. Ford got up again. “N-now if you’ll excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.”

 

Ford got maybe six feet away from the table before he felt a strong grip on his arm. He was violently hauled backward and thrown against the wall. Before he could react, the Crizeron had a paw around his throat and was pinning him to the wall three feet above the floor. Ford spluttered and gasped for air, fingers scraping desperately at the arm holding him up. 

 

The Crizeron sneered, showing off sharp fangs. “Not so great now, are you? You pathetic little wreck!” With a grunt, the Crizeron slammed its other fist into Ford’s stomach, cleanly knocking all the wind out of him. Ford clenched his eyes shut and let out a strangled gasp, his arms momentarily falling to his sides. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, He felt something sharp slice into the side of his ribcage before he was lifted away from the wall and thrown across the room. Ford landed in a crumpled heap against the wall, clutching his side in agony. He could feel blood sticking to his palms. He lifted his hand away and looked at the wound on his side. It wasn’t a neat cut but at least it wasn’t deep enough to be of any concern. 

 

Ford put his hands on the floor beneath him and pushed himself up. His side flared up in pain and he let out a sharp hiss. He managed to stagger to his feet, holding onto the wall for support. The Crizeron shot him a venomous look from the other end of the dining area before turning back to its food. Ford stumbled forward, attempting to get back towards the entrance, but he felt his legs tremble beneath him and he crumpled to the floor again. He could hear several other prisoners sniggering and muttering at him. His face flushed red with embarrassment. He was reminded of all the times back at school where he would be laying in the corridor, on the playing field, in the boys’ bathrooms, hurt and unable to get up. He’d be jeered at, laughed at, mocked by all his fellow students. He would end up in tears, lying on the floor helplessly as he was laughed at. 

 

Ford shuddered and forced himself to his feet again. He had to grab onto the edge of a nearby table to stop himself toppling over again. The other half of the table was full, the prisoners there giving him harsh glares as he eased himself into a spare seat. Ford looked down at his injured side again and sighed quietly. He didn’t seem to be able to stay out of trouble. He kept a hand pressed over his injury. He attempted to get up again, but his legs felt weak beneath him. He decided to stay sitting down for a moment to get his strength back. He was at least able to breathe better, now, after being winded by that punch. He hung his head low and took slow, steady breaths.

 

Ford could roughly hear the discussion the discussion the other prisoners on the table were having. He couldn’t understand what they were saying - their language was utterly foreign to him - but he knew it was about himself by the way they kept looking and pointing at him. He kept his head down, pointedly ignoring them. He saw them get up as a group and leave the table. On their way past him, one of them dumped their drink over Ford’s head. Ford let out a yelp of shock. He put his hands over his head. The drink was awfully sticky and it smelled strongly of sugar and alcohol. He grabbed a handful of napkins off the table and began scrubbing the drink out of his hair. It had already begun to drip from his hair down the back of his shirt. The alcohol content must have been fairly strong as it was stinging his skin. Ford let out a hiss. He’d have to wash himself once he got back to his cell. 

 

Ford saw the guards begin to guide the prisoners back to their cells. He got up and headed towards the door. His steps were slow and unsteady, his side still twinging in pain. He figured it was a miracle the Crizeron hadn’t broken any of his ribs with that punch. It was rather difficult to breathe, though. As he approached the door, a guard grabbed his arm and started leading him back towards the dining area. Up ahead, Ford noticed the same Crizeron from earlier fighting against the guard holding onto him. The creature broke free and started sprinting full-pelt towards the exit of the cells. It just managed to reach the doorway before its whole body seized up. Ford could see it convulsing in agony. The cuff around its ankle was sparking and flashing blue. Ford felt a chill run up his spine. The cuff evidently acted as a security mechanism. It prevented any of the prisoners making it further than the door.

 

Ford swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he was brought back to his cell. He was chained up again and the guard shut the door behind him. Ford was still shaking. The image of the Crizeron’s body locking up in an electrical-induced seizure flashed at the forefront of his mind. The human shuddered as his mind conjured the image of himself going through the same sort of pain. A few guards walked up the hall towards the now unconscious Crizeron, hauling it back down the hall towards its cell. Its body still spasmed ever so often as the last of the electricity left its system. Ford found the sight deeply unsettling. He ran a hand across his face and took a few steady breaths. His side flared up in sharp agony again and he winced. First thing’s first, he’d have to get that injury tended to. 

 

\-----

 

Rick laid on his back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. One hand clenched around a bottle, the other hanging limply near the floor, he was barely moving, save for the steady, deep breaths flowing in and out of his lungs. He lifted the bottle up to his lips and sighed, finding not a single drop left. He tossed the bottle haphazardly onto the floor and let his hand fall to his side. He knew that he could be doing so many better things than just lying here. He couldn’t bring himself to get up. Ever since Ford had gone, he’d just been feeling  _ empty.  _ It had been almost a month now, since Ford’s arrest, and Rick was still not over it. 

 

Rick legitimately thought that something like this would never affect him so much. After all, he was no longer wanted by the Galactic Federation, having been pardoned in return for handing Ford over. On top of that, he was rich! He had well over two million dollars to spend. Yet the money still sat in the bag underneath his bed. As soon as he’d gotten home, he’d tossed the bag under his bed and left it. He could have thrown the wildest damn party ever with that sort of money. He could have had as many Kalaxian crystals as he wanted, but he hadn’t spent any of it. Not a dime. He hadn’t even opened the bag. 

 

The scientist pushed himself up into a loose sitting position on the couch. He was slouched against the arm of the sofa, his arm draped loosely over the side. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused. He glanced over at the information leaflet sitting on the desk at the side of the room. It had been included in the letter the Council of Ricks had sent him. It was about the Federal prison Ford had been sent to. Forcing himself onto his feet, Rick walked over to the desk and picked the leaflet up. He opened it up.

 

The inside cover was just a long list of the sorts of crimes one would have to commit in order to get locked up in which particular unit of the prison. Rick scanned his eyes over the list. What was it Ford had been arrested for? Robbery, assault, vehicle theft and murder? Rick looked down the list until he came across ‘murder’. It said that anyone who committed murder, along with a maximum of five lesser crimes, would be locked up in the 6th level, two stages below maximum security. Rick flipped through the other pages of the leaflet until he reached the information about the 6th level. There were several pictures of famous prisoners - ones known throughout the galaxy for their crimes - and some wanted posters. Rick swallowed, noticing that Ford’s picture was amongst the ‘wanted’ ones. His heart skipped a beat as he read.

 

_ “Prisoners are allowed a maximum of two hours visiting time per week, supervised by armed guards with a maximum of two visitors at any one time” _

 

Rick couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He could visit Ford! Evidently the Galactic Federation took their crime and punishment rather loosely compared to Earth prisons. Rick frowned. Would Ford even want to see him after he handed him over? He shook his head. He had to try. Even if, when he got there, Ford rejected him, at least he’d tried. He wasn’t going to fix anything by lying helplessly on his sofa, staring at the ceiling and drinking himself to death. Nodding to himself, Rick headed over to where his interdimensional contact system was set up in the hallway. Leaflet in hand, he read off the details and plugged them into the system. 

  
He hoped that he’d get a chance to talk to Ford, and get a chance to apologize to him. Rick very much doubted Ford would want to hear a word he had to say, but maybe if he tried talking to him, he could show Ford just how much he regretted his actions. He just hoped that Ford would be willing to listen.


	15. A Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick goes to visit Ford in prison. Ford is less than happy to see him.

Rick dug through the pockets of his lab coat, making sure he had everything. He grabbed his wallet and keys off the side and shoved them into one of the pockets before leaving the apartment. He locked the door behind him and headed towards the elevator. As the elevator descended, he ran over the plan in his mind. Should he have brought something to give to Ford? Flowers, maybe? Rick snorted. As if! The guards would likely confiscate anything he tried to bring in. He’d be surprised if they didn’t check his pockets before he entered. 

 

The elevator arrived in the reception area and Rick made his way straight to the garage and the ship. He was practically running. His heart pounded in his ears. He was nervous, to say the least. Excited to see Ford and make sure he was okay, yet worried that Ford would turn his back on him as soon as he got there. Rick guessed he deserved it after just throwing Ford over like that, but there was no going back now. He’d made the appointment to visit Ford and he’d be damned if he was going to chicken out now. He hauled the garage door open and wheeled the ship outside. He made sure the garage was shut and locked before getting into the ship and starting up the engine. Not bothering with his seatbelt, Rick got the ship up into the air and flew off in the direction of the prison. 

 

On his way there, a mixture of negative thoughts continued to chase each other around his mind. What if Ford rejected him? Would he be able to figure out a way of getting Ford home? What if Ford had been moved to a different part of the prison and Rick wasn’t allowed to visit him? What if Ford had been in a fight with the other prisoners and was seriously hurt? What if he was dead? Rick shuddered at that last thought and shook it off. Ford was fine. He was overreacting. Even if Ford  _ had  _ been in a fight, the guy was more than capable of dealing with it himself. He’d survived ten years fighting off all sorts of monsters, for crying out loud! Still, there were a lot of different species at the prison and Ford had no weapons of any kind. Rick couldn’t help but worry that Ford had gotten himself into trouble. 

 

Soon, the prison came into view. It was a large, menacing structure perhaps the size of Manhattan and then some. The airspace around it was swarming with small ships, on patrol for any unauthorised entrances and/or exits. Rick looked at the control panel of his ship as a call came through.

 

_ “Vehicle 62-0085/B, you are not a registered prison vehicle. What is your business here?” _

 

“I’m a visitor,” Rick replied. “Clearance code FZ-2262-E-292.”

 

Rick could hear the person on the other end of the call type something into a computer before they responded with, “ _ Vehicle 62-0085/B, you are authorised to land in landing zone gamma. Have a nice day.” _

 

Rick snorted as the comm went dead. “‘Have a nice day?’ Seriously?” Nonetheless, he directed the ship down to the zone below him. The thick, airtight doors slid open and he entered. The metal doors above him slid closed as a second set of doors, these ones much thinner, opened below him. Rick landed the ship in the gamma landing zone and hopped out. He followed the designated path towards a large set of double doors. 

 

Once inside, a guard directed him over to a reception desk. The receptionist, a Gromflomite, looked up as he approached. “Name and home dimension?”

 

“Rick Sanchez, Dimension E-292.” Rick replied casually, leaning against the desk. There were a few quiet murmurs from the people around him. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m not  _ that  _ Rick so don’t get your hopes up!”

 

“E-292,” The Gromflomite muttered as he typed away at the keyboard in front of him. “Yes. Recently pardoned of all crimes by the Galactic Federation in exchange for handing over the wanted criminal Stanford Pines of Dimension 46’\\. It says here that he is exactly the man you are visiting today, is that correct?”

 

“Yeah,” Rick picked at a stain on his lab coat sleeve.

 

“Reason for your visit?”

 

“He is -  _ was,  _ my boyfriend. I wanted to check up on him.” Rick replied, his voice light and almost cheery. “I sorta missed having the guy around, y’know?”

 

The Gromflomite entered something into the computer again before turning to face Rick. “You understand that you will be thoroughly searched both before and after your visit, to make sure you are not concealing any contraband objects?”

 

“Yeah yeah. No booze, drugs, weapons, hairpins, explosives or any sharp objects at all.” Rick shrugged. “Can I go now?”

 

The receptionist gestured for another guard - also a Gromflomite - to take Rick towards Detention Level 6, where Ford was being held. “Take Mr Sanchez here to visiting room 6-18. Make sure he is supervised at all times and that Stanford Pines is cuffed and collared as necessary. He has been known to bite, so keep a muzzle handy.”

 

Rick couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. Ford had bitten somebody? Wow, the guy really  _ was  _ capable of looking after himself, wasn’t he?

 

“Yes sir.” The guard responded. He led Rick over to a set of elevators. Rick was guided inside one. The guard followed behind as the doors shut and they travelled upwards. Upon arrival, Rick was led down a corridor to the left and into a room branching off from the hall. Inside was a small table, a few chairs and a sofa. There were no windows, the room being lit by fitted ceiling lights. Rick felt the guard tap his shoulder.

 

“What?”

 

“Arms out. You need to be searched.”

 

Rick sighed and rolled his eyes, putting his arms out to his sides. “Fine. You touch my crotch and I’m roundhousing you in the face.”

 

The guard emptied Rick’s pockets. Inside were his wallet, his keys, a few scraps of paper and the information leaflet about the prison. Rick raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing dangerous in there. Happy?”

 

The guard made thoroughly sure Rick was void of anything dangerous before stepping back and standing by the door. He pressed a button on the small radio attached to the lapel of his uniform. “Sanchez has been searched and has been found to carry no contraband. Please bring Stanford Pines of Dimension 46’\ to visiting room 6-18.”

 

A second guard on the other end of the line replied with “Yes sir,” before heading towards the cell block. He marched down the hall until he reached Ford’s cell. “Hey, Pines!”

 

Ford looked up at the guard standing outside the bars of his cell. “What do you want?” He snapped. His mind was racing. What had he done that warranted him being brought out of his cell outside of mealtimes? Was it because of that fight two days ago? Was he in trouble?

 

He expected something along the lines of a punishment. What Ford didn’t expect was the response he got. “You’ve got a visitor.”

 

Ford blinked, any present worries fading away. A visitor? Who the hell would visit - oh. Oh no. He clenched his teeth and got up as the guard switched off the electric current flowing through the bars of Ford’s cell and opened the door. Ford stood still as he was cuffed, shackled and collared. He could feel the eyes of every other prisoner on him as he was marched out of his cell and down the hallway. He was led down the main corridor of the detention level before being guided into an adjacent room.

 

His mouth fell open as he saw who was visiting him.  _ “RICK?!”  _ Of course, it was Rick. Who else would it be? Nobody else knew he was here - of course, it would be Rick.

 

“Hey, Fordsy, how’s it hanging?”

 

Ford’s first reaction was joy. Rick had come to see him! His second reaction, the dominant one, was pure, blinding rage. He couldn’t move properly in these damn chains, especially with the guard behind him holding onto one chain like a dog’s leash, so he opted just to swear. “You fucking piece of human shit.”

 

Rick looked almost sheepish, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Nice to see you too.”

 

“Nice to see you?!” Ford spat. “I sure bet it is nice, knowing that you threw me in here in the first place! Do you have any idea what it’s like here?!”

 

Rick opened his mouth to reply with something sarcastic, before he noticed the fresh wound on Ford’s side. The jumpsuit Ford was wearing was torn and stained with dried blood, revealing a nasty (but thankfully not deep) gash in Ford’s side. It wasn’t bleeding and didn’t look infected, but it still looked like it had hurt. A lot. “Jesus Christ, when did that happen?”

 

“Two days ago,” Ford grunted. “I got into a fight.”

 

Rick swallowed. “Holy crap, Ford. That looks bad.”

 

“YOU THINK THIS LOOKS BAD?!” Ford strode forwards, his teeth bared in a feral gesture. “I’ve seen people  _ die,  _ Rick! People are KILLED in this place and you think  _ this  _ looks bad?!” Ford tugged at the restraints holding him back. He just wanted to punch that stupid look right off Rick’s stupid face. He was yanked backwards by the guard.

 

Rick took a step backward, his hands up in defense. “H-hey, it’s not my fault you got yourself hurt!”

 

“NOT YOUR FAULT?!” Ford hollered, tears burning behind his eyes. He lunged forwards. The guard yanked him back violently again, causing him to let out a choked gasp as the collar around his neck dug into his windpipe. He coughed, falling to his knees. Once he had caught his breath, he glared up at Rick. “Everything’s your damn fault. You’re the reason I’m even here to begin with.”

 

Rick felt a strong pang of guilt clench his stomach and he knelt beside Ford. The guard stepped back, still keeping a firm grip on the chain connected to the collar around Ford’s neck. Rick sat on the floor beside Ford. He ran a hand through his hair. 

 

Ford shot him a glare, sitting down on the ground. “Why the hell are you even here?”

 

Rick sighed. “I missed you. I’ve regretted that decision every day for the past month.”

 

Ford scoffed. “Then what made you do it in the first place?”

 

Rick winced, though the question lacked any venom. “I got a letter during the weeks you were in the hospital. From the Council. It had been sent from the Federation, but evidently the Council knew I wouldn’t open it with the Federation logo printed all over it. It said that if I handed you over, I’d be pardoned and I’d get a reward for it.”

 

Ford felt his stomach churning. He couldn’t believe this! “So a ton of money was worth more to you than I was?” He growled.

 

Rick swallowed. He opened his mouth to reply but Ford cut him off by holding a hand up. “Save it. I should have known. You never gave a shit about me, did you?”

 

“Ford, that’s not-”

 

“No, you didn’t.” Ford spat. He got to his feet. “I should have guessed. You’ve been lying this whole damn time, haven’t you? You said when we first met that you wouldn’t hand me over and you flat-out lied. And for a moment I actually thought you  _ loved  _ me! Ha! What an idiot! You didn’t care shit about me! You backstabbing son of a bitch!”

 

“Ford please!” Rick got up. He reached a hand out towards Ford, recoiling in shock when Ford slammed his jaw shut half an inch from Rick’s hand, threatening to bite it. A shiver ran down Rick’s spine. He’d never seen Ford so feral. The guard yanked Ford’s head back forcefully, clipping a muzzle over Ford’s mouth. Ford shot a venomous glance at the guard before turning his head back to face Rick.

 

“Save it for the next idiot in line to trust you,” Ford growled. He looked over at the guard. “We’re done here. Just take me back to my cell already.”

 

“Ford wait!” Rick grabbed onto Ford’s arm and pulled him close before Ford had the chance to walk away. “I’m sorry!”

 

Ford yanked his arm away from Rick’s grasp. “Get off me! I can’t believe I was stupid enough to ever believe you cared about  _ anyone  _ but yourself! You’re nothing but a selfish, lying, cheating bastard!”

 

Rick took a step backward, his eyes wide in shock. He couldn’t speak - there was a lump in his throat. “F-F…”

 

“‘F-F-Ford  _ please!’”  _ Ford wailed in a poor impersonation of Rick, his face an image of pure mockery. “‘Please take me back! I love you and I need someone to do all the dirty work for me since I’m too selfish to do it myself!’” Ford’s gaze turned cold. “Go fuck yourself. If I ever see your traitorous face again, I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

 

Rick clenched his hands into fists as the guard began leading Ford away. He was shaking. “Ford  _ wait!” _

 

“What?!” Ford whirled around, his eyes narrow. His breath came in harsh gasps.

 

Rick swallowed hard and threw his arms around Ford. Ford’s immediate reaction was to bring his knee up, slamming it painfully into Rick’s crotch. Rick released his grip on Ford and his knees buckled underneath him, his hands pressed to his groin. Even in chains and shackles, Ford packed quite a punch.

 

Ford gritted his teeth and turned away, a growl escaping his throat. “Get the hell out of here, Rick, and don’t bother coming back.” The guard led Ford back down the hallway and towards his cell.

 

Rick got to his feet. His crotch still ached painfully but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He watched, arms limp by his sides, as Ford walked round the corner and out of sight. Rick felt his heart drop into his stomach. That was it. He was never getting Ford back. His stomach churned. He felt like he was going to throw up. His head was spinning. The ground underneath his feet seemed to be swaying and moving of its own accord. Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

 

That was it. Ford was gone. And it was all Rick’s fault. Ford was never going to forgive him for this. Heck, Ford didn’t even want to  _ see  _ him ever again. Rick couldn’t deny the fact that he deserved it one hundred percent. He’d lied. He’d betrayed Ford and now Ford was paying the price. A small part of Rick knew that Ford deserved to be punished for the crimes he’d committed but that part was silenced by the rest of him, insisting that Ford should never have been locked up here. Rick took a shuddering breath and followed the other guard out of the hallway and back towards the visitors’ parking lot.

 

As Rick made his way back to where he’d parked the ship, guilt pressed heavily down on his shoulders. He was an idiot for thinking Ford would ever forgive him for turning him in like that. He was an idiot for ever handing Ford over in the first place. He was an idiot for getting K. Michael to bring Ford to him. It would have been better for everyone if he just let the Feds take care of Ford. Ford would have been so much better off if they’d never met. As he got back to his ship, he began formulating a plan. He could tell just how much Ford hated being in there. He’d been hurt by one of the other prisoners and nobody seemed to have done anything about it. Rick had to get him out of there, if it was the last thing he did. Maybe then Ford would give him a second chance.

 

\-------

 

Once Ford reached his cell again, the guard removed the muzzle, the collar and the cuffs from his wrists. The shackles around his ankles were unhooked from each other and the chain attached to the wall was hooked back up. The guard shut the door behind him as he left, the gentle hum from the bars indicating that electricity was once again flowing through them. Ford let out a heavy sigh and flopped down onto the bed. He was still absolutely fuming. This time, most of his rage was directed at Rick. He wished he’d lashed out and beaten Rick into a bloody pulp. The chains around his arms prevented that, unfortunately.

 

With a growl, he threw himself up into a sitting position and punched the wall as hard as he could. Pain ricocheted all the way up his arm and slammed into his shoulder. His knuckles stung and ached. He didn’t care. He continued to punch the stone wall with both hands until the skin on his knuckles split and bled. He held back strained gasps of pain as he kept pummeling his bashed hands into the stone, leaving bloody streaks on the walls. Eventually, his arms hurt too much to keep going and his hands fell to his sides. They stung painfully. Blood dripped down his fingers and onto the bedsheets. It hardly mattered. The sheets were already stained with blood, dirt and other substances as it was. 

  
Ford laid flat on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. He’d worn himself out. He was still absolutely  _ furious,  _ obviously, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything about it. He took slow, deep breaths. He didn’t know what Rick was thinking, showing up like that, or even if he was thinking at all. The sheer  _ nerve  _ of him to show up to visit the very person he’d thrown into prison. What did Rick expect, that Ford would just forgive him and welcome him with open arms? That Ford would fall to his knees and apologise for ever making Rick want to hand him over? Ford laughed humorlessly. There was no way he was ever going to forgive Rick for this. No way in Hell. 


	16. Escape, part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick breaks into Ford's prison cell, intending on getting him out of there. Except there's a problem. The portal gun isn't working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta put some trigger warnings here, I'm afraid:
> 
> -forced vomiting (Ford makes himself sick)  
> -a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference of attempted rape (tbh if you don't know exactly what to look for then you won't notice it - probably)

Rick looked again at the notes strewn all over his living room floor. The walls were covered in post-it notes, sketches, calculations, bullet points and small maps. A large photo of Ford was pinned in the centre of the largest wall, a large red circle drawn around it in red pen. He held one pen between his teeth while furiously scribbling notes down with the other. An almost-completed electronic device sat on the desk, a few stray wires poking out here and there. It resembled a wristwatch, only slightly larger with a larger dial on the side of it. A small control panel was attached to the strap.

 

Rick grinned, setting the pen in his hand down and taking the other out of his mouth. He looked over his notes and blueprints, his hands on his hips. He walked over to the wall opposite the TV. A large map of the prison was pinned there, the area where Ford was covered in small post-it notes. A large, blue line was drawn around the cell that was Ford’s. Small coloured push pins were placed at intervals along the corridor, indicating where guards usually were. Rick felt confident, to say the least.

 

He was breaking Ford out. Tonight.

 

Rick took a seat at his desk again, fiddling with the small watch-like device. He finished connecting the wires up and fixed them inside the device, making sure it was sealed properly. He took a cable from the desk and put one end into the watch. He plugged the other into the computer on the desk. He scanned through the coding three more times, making sure it was all perfect and programmed correctly. Unplugging the watch, he strapped it to his wrist. 

 

Rick pressed a few buttons on the panel on the watch. A wave of pale grey static washed over his body, accompanied by a tingling sensation. He grinned. Walking into the bathroom, Rick stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door. The image of a Gromflomite guard stared back at him. Rick grinned, and the mandibles of the Gromflomite moves in a grin too. Rick lifted one of his legs up and the Gromflomite did the same thing, its dual-jointed legs bending at both knees. Rick walked in a circle, waved his arms around and jumped up and down. The Gromflomite mimicked every action perfectly, its body moving in its species’ natural way.

 

Rick laughed, taking the watch off his wrist. The Gromflomite was engulfed by static, leaving Rick’s own reflection in its place. The disguise generator was a success, just like most of his other inventions. He just hoped it wouldn’t malfunction and break down later tonight. He left the bathroom and set the watch down on the desk again. He picked up his portal gun, playing around with the dials and screen on the back of it. He plugged it into the mains power supply to charge. It wouldn’t have been good if his portal gun ran out of charge in the middle of a high-security prison surrounded by armed guards. 

 

Rick left his gun to charge while he loaded a small backpack up with supplies. Food, water, medical supplies and weapons. He was never really one to prepare for things, but judging by the state Ford was in when he’d last seen him, he couldn’t be too careful. It had been a good few days since he’d last seen Ford. He had no idea whether he’d gotten into any more fights or how badly he was hurt. He couldn’t risk being unprepared for this. 

 

Once he was satisfied that everything was packed, all he had to do was wait for the time to pass. He couldn’t risk breaking in while it was still “daytime” at the prison, otherwise, it would kick up a huge fuss and the rescue would be botched. He tried to relax, for the time being, turning the TV on and browsing through the channels. He sipped a glass of water and managed to calm his nerves enough to watch the television.

 

Nighttime soon fell and Rick made sure he was entirely ready to go. Part of him doubted that Ford would even speak to him, let alone agree to go with him. Ford hadn’t exactly been happy to find out that the only visitor he’d had in that place was the guy who threw him in there in the first place. Rick shouldn’t have expected anything other than the reaction he received. He deserved it, after all. Maybe by showing Ford that he was willing to risk his life to save him, the two could finally talk to each other without anger. 

 

Rick slid a blaster into a holster at his hip, strapped the watch onto his wrist and slung the backpack full of supplies onto his back. He grabbed the portal gun. He adjusted the settings on the watch, feeling a familiar tingling sensation wash over his body. He checked his reflection in the mirror, convinced that it was working properly. He adjusted the settings on the portal gun, inputting the coordinates to the set location within the prison. He fired at the wall. A large green disk appeared. Rick took a deep breath and stepped through.

 

\----

 

Ford was fiddling with the chains around his ankle, sitting on the bunk with his back against the wall. A fresh scratch adorned his left cheek, spanning from his jaw up to his eyebrow. Thankfully, when the inmate who had caused this had slashed at him, Ford had shut his eyes. He dreaded to think what the pain would have been like had he had his eyes open. This new cut was accompanied by a set of tooth wounds on his shoulder. At the same time that he’d been slashed at, the inmate had sunk their teeth into Ford’s shoulder. The guards had separated the fight, hauling both the inmate and Ford back to their cells. Both of them had gone without eating.

 

Ford huffed. He hadn’t been the one to start that fight, yet he’d been denied food too. His stomach growled. The emptiness in his stomach was making it hard for him to be able to sleep, so here he sat, playing absentmindedly with the chain around his ankle. It wasn’t like he had anything better to be doing. He wasn’t allowed any pens or paper, any books or reading material. Heck, he didn’t even have a rubber ball to bounce at the wall. He was bored out of his mind. Even if he had a stick of chalk, he’d be able to draw on the walls and the floor. At least that would give him something to do. But no, the guards were worried Ford would attempt to summon a demon or something with some ancient set of runes and some dumb chant.

 

As he played with the chain between his fingers and the sound of other inmates fighting echoed around him, Ford’s mind drifted back to the meeting he’d had with Rick when he came to visit. His fingers curled tightly around the chain. If Ford hadn’t been restrained, it was highly likely he would have attacked Rick. He would have leapt at him and punched his stupid face into a bloody pulp. He would have pressed both six-fingered hands against Rick’s throat and squeezed until Rick stopped struggling. He would have… would have…

 

Ford wasn’t sure what he would have done.

 

In all honesty, as much as he hated Rick right now, it had been a relief to see him. It showed that Rick still gave somewhat of a care about him. If Rick truly didn’t care, he would have left Ford in prison on his own for the length of his sentence and would not once have come to visit him. Ford had been so blinded by his anger and the hurt of being betrayed that he had lashed out, verbally and physically. He didn’t regret those actions, but he wasn’t happy about them either. He sighed, letting the chain slip from his fingers and land on the bed with a soft thump.

 

He missed Rick. Even though Rick had betrayed him, and hurt him, and waited a whole month to visit, he missed him. He enjoyed spending time with him. He enjoyed the jokes, the conversations, even the evenings spent sat on the couch together watching some cheesy sci-fi movie. He missed the hugs, the sneaky hand holding in public, the awkward kisses and more intimate moments. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive Rick for this, but that didn’t stop him wishing the scientist was here. 

 

Ford yelped and shot backwards off the bed as a large, glowing green disk appeared on the wall at the opposite end of the cell, next to the toilet cubicle. Ford sat bolt upright, one leg still sprawled across the bed. His heart leapt into his throat. There was only one man - well, set of men - who had a device capable of producing a portal like that. Ford’s heart sunk, however, when a Gromflomite stepped out. Why on Earth would a Gromflomite have access to Rick’s -  _ a  _ Rick’s - portal gun? 

 

A chill ran down Ford’s spine. Oh, God. What if his Rick was dead and the last coordinates he had programmed into the portal gun were the ones to his cell? Had Rick been about to break him out, only to be captured, possibly killed?! Ford scrambled to his feet and backed away, his back pressed up against the stone wall behind him. The Gromflomite adjusted something on its wrist - Ford noticed it looked like a watch - before its entire body was engulfed in static. Another form took its place, grinning at him.

 

Ford had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop his surprised and frankly  _ relieved  _ shout. He removed his hands, his words coming out in a strained whisper.  _ “R-Rick?!” _

 

Rick grinned widely, throwing his arms out wide. “The one and only E-292.”

 

Ford’s hands were shaking. His mind was at war over what to do. Half of him wanted to beat the ever-loving shit out of him, while the other half wanted to rush over and give him the biggest hug of his life. His body favoured the latter option. Ford sprinted over to him, throwing his arms around Rick and burying his face into the curve of Rick’s neck. He felt Rick wrap his arms around him in return.

 

Ford wasn’t aware of the tears running down his face until he let out a choked sob. He pulled away faster than he intended to, fixing Rick with a harsh, tear-filled glare. “How the hell could you do that to me?”

 

Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I could give you a tonne of reasons but they’d all be bullshit, so I’m just gonna say sorry. I was an asshole. I wasn’t th-uurp-thinking. I’m sorry.”

 

Ford shook his head, his hands shaking. He looked away. “I’m never going to forgive you for this, you know that right?”

 

Rick took two steps forward slowly. “Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t forgive me either. I get that I don’t deserve to b-uurp-be forgiven for this. But I’m getting you outta here, okay? Right now.”

 

Ford swallowed. He nodded, embracing Rick in a tight hug again. “Thank you… thank you…”

 

Rick pressed a kiss to Ford’s forehead, grinning. He stepped back and drew a blaster from a holster at his hip. He flicked the safety off and pressed the barrel against the clip of the shackle around Ford’s ankle, aiming carefully so the blast wouldn’t hit Ford. He fired, the shot bouncing off the walls of the cell and echoing down the hall. The clip burst open. Ford tugged his ankle free from the shackle, grinning. 

 

“Hey!” There was a faint shout from the far end of the hallway. “What’s going on down there?!”

 

_ “Shit!”  _ Ford hissed. “Quick, hide under the bed!”

 

Rick nodded, quickly holstering the gun again and scrambling beneath the bed. Ford tugged the blanket down over the end of the bed to hide Rick. He grabbed the shackle and chain and dove back into bed, lying down and wriggling under the blankets. He shut his eyes to feign being asleep, hoping the broken chain and shackle weren’t obvious. He could hear two guards approaching the cell. He heard them pause just outside his cell, before heading further up the hallway to break up the fight going on amongst other inmates. They walked back down the hall and the noise faded into silence again. 

 

Ford waited a moment before hanging his head over the bed to look at Rick. “All clear. They’ve gone.”

 

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. “Great.” He crawled out from under the bed and stood up. He took the portal gun out of his pocket. He adjusted the dial on the side, inputting the coordinates for his apartment, and fired at the wall.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Rick frowned. He fired a second time. Still nothing He tapped the side of the gun twice with his knuckles before trying again. All that appeared was a small shower of green sparks. No portal. Ford swallowed, wringing his hands. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Either this thing’s br-uurp-broken or there’s some sort of shield in this room which prevents it working,” Rick grunted. He fired at eight different spots on the wall, ceiling and floor and still nothing. He was starting to worry now. If this wasn’t working, then they were both trapped in here.

 

Ford bit his lip. “Now what the hell are we gonna do?!”

 

Rick fiddled with the watch on his wrist again. The same static as before engulfed his body, his image being replaced with a Gromflomite again. He walked over to the bars, sticking his arm through them. He made sure not to touch them. He managed to reach the switch at the edge of the cell that turned the electricity off, thankful that Gromflomite arms were longer, thinner and more agile than human ones. He flipped the switch and the hum died down to silence. 

 

Ford watched him anxiously. “What are you doing?”

 

“You’ll see.” Rick swung the backpack off his back and started digging around in it. He fished out a small lockpick and began working the lock on the door. He was thankful that the inmates in view of their cell were all asleep at the moment. With a sharp, quiet click, the lock was undone and the door creaked open quietly. Rick turned around to Ford. “You need to pretend to be really ill or something. If you could actually throw up, that would help.”

 

Ford ran a hand through his hair. “Why? What are you planning?”

 

“Look, I’ve studied these guys for months. I’ve been in enough encounters w-uurp-with them to know that if an inmate is sick enough, they get taken to a room and given some meds before being sent back again.” Rick replied. “I need you to try and vomit.”

 

“I can’t. I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch.” Ford replied. “I got into a fight at dinner and got dragged back here without eating.”

 

“You have to try,” Rick frowned. Ford wasn’t going to deny it - the expression on the Gromflomite he was seeing was downright hilarious. The compound eyes didn’t seem to be focused at all, giving Rick a glazed expression. Now was not the time for humour, though.

 

Ford took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright.” He walked over to the small toilet cubicle and pulled the door open. He bit his lip and knelt down in front of the toilet before taking two fingers and pushing them down the back of his throat as far as he could. He could feel himself gagging. His stomach lurched horribly. He hated this. He’d only had to make himself sick once before. He’d been at a bar and someone had slipped something into his drink. Ford hadn’t realised that until he began to feel drowsy. He rushed into the bathroom and jammed two fingers down his neck. He managed to empty his stomach before the drug took full effect. The one who’d slipped the drug into his drink wasn’t all that happy to find out that his date for the evening had clocked what was going on. Ford had a nice little scar on his left shoulder thanks to that. 

 

Rick turned away, cringing at the sight. He had expected something more along the lines of Ford thinking of something gross enough to turn his stomach, but he guessed that after all Ford’s been through, that would be a fairly hard thing to accomplish. He heard Ford retch a couple of times before something wet splattered into the toilet bowl. The acrid smell of vomit filled the room. 

 

Ford stood up, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He was a fair bit paler now, the front of his jumpsuit marked with vomit. His eyes were watery and his hair was a mess. He fixed Rick with a harsh look. “I hate you.” He muttered. His stomach was still lurching but he swallowed the remaining vomit back down. He might have to be sick again as a last resort. 

 

Rick cringed. “If you wanna get out of here, you’d better follow my lead.” He replied. He pulled out a set of handcuffs from his rucksack before putting the bag on his back again. He cuffed Ford’s wrists together behind his back and led him out of the cell. He made sure to lock the door and turn the electricity back on again before taking Ford down the hallway towards the exit of the prison ward.

 

“So far so good.” He murmured into Ford’s ear.

 

“If we die, I’m going to kill you.” Ford muttered back. His breath reeked of vomit and his throat burned from the acidic bile, making his eyes water. He hoped it was believable enough. If it wasn’t… well… they’d have to think of another plan. And fast. 


	17. Escape, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finally manages to get Ford out of the Federal Prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for how long this took to get updated. I've had a fuckton of college work to do and recently my laptop has been playing up so I haven't been able to access either AO3 or my files. Hope it was worth the wait!

As the pair approached the exit to the prison ward, two guards drew guns out and aimed at them. Rick put an arm around Ford’s throat. The first guard took a step forward. “What are you doing with him?”

 

“He’s sick.” Rick replied. “He was being violently sick. I’m taking him to the infirmary.”

 

“He doesn’t look sick to me.” The guard walked forward and stood in front of Ford. “He looks just fine.

 

At that same moment, Ford felt his stomach lurch violently again. He leaned forward and vomited at the guard’s feet. The guard let out a startled yelp and jumped backwards. Ford continued to cough and retch. Rick took a fistful of Ford’s hair and yanked his head back when his stomach was empty. Ford hissed in pain and made a mental note to talk with Rick about this when they got out of his mess.

 

The guard looked thoroughly disgusted. “Humans are vile creatures. Get him out of here.”

 

Rick nodded and attempted to haul Ford away. He barely got past the guards before one of them held the gun up again. “Where is his restraint?” The guard demanded, pointing at Ford’s bare ankle.

 

“Took it off him.” Rick replied. “He’s cuffed - it’s not like he’s going anywhere.” He turned Ford around and showed the other guards that Ford’s wrists were bound tightly together. 

 

The guard grunted and shrugged, pulling the gun away. “Alright. If he bites you it’s your own damn fault.” They pressed a button on the panel beside the large door in front of them, before entering a keycode. There was a loud beep before the metal doors slowly opened. “Get him out of here, we’ve got this mess to clean up.”

 

Ford growled and rolled his eyes as Rick took him away. They got perhaps a hundred yards down the hall before Rick leaned down and whispered into Ford’s ear. “So far so good.” 

 

“Don’t jinx it.” Ford muttered back. “We’re not free yet. Where the hell are you going anyway?”

 

“This way.” Rick led Ford down an adjacent hallway and into a room on the right. Once inside, Rick shut the door and uncuffed Ford. Ford swayed a little on his feet and had to lean against the wall, wiping his mouth on the collar of his jumpsuit. 

 

“You’re lucky I was able to throw up,” Ford muttered. 

 

Rick removed the disguise and the Gromflomite form fizzled away into his own one. “Yeah yeah, I’ll thank you later once w-uurp-we’re outta here.”

 

Ford sat down on the floor to try and get his head to stop spinning. “Urgh…”

 

Rick crouched down in front of him. “You okay?”

 

Ford responded by backhanding Rick across the face. “Don’t act all concerned, Sanchez. I’m not exactly happy with you after you turned me in.”

 

Rick rubbed his face. “Okay, first of all,  _ ow.  _ Second of all, you’ve got every right to be pissed off at me, but if you want to get out of here I suggest you keep that anger to yourself for the time being and work with me. After that, you can b-uurp-beat the shit out of me all you like.”

 

It was clear by Ford’s face that he was still seething, his hands clenched into tight fists, but he let out a deep breath and nodded. “Fine. But just until we get out of here.”

 

Rick sighed and sat on the floor. “Handing you over was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, you know. I made an irrational decision and I fucked up big time.”

 

“Hell yeah you did.” Ford muttered. “I can’t believe I fell in love with someone as selfish as you.”

 

Rick frowned and avoided Ford’s glare. “Y’know, part of me regrets ever getting K. Michael to get you out of that zoo. Maybe you would have been better if you’d stayed there.”

 

“Well I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.” Ford admitted. “I would likely have never gotten out of there on my own, so I suppose I have to thank you for that at least. I’m certainly not thanking you for throwing me in there, though.”

 

“That’s understandable.” Rick murmured. “I wouldn’t thank me either. Nobody would.”

 

Ford sighed and looked away. “In all honesty, Rick… I’ve missed you.”

 

“What?” Rick lifted his head to look at him. He hadn’t expected Ford to say something like that, of all things.

 

“I’ve missed you.” Ford repeated softly. “I’ve missed having you around. I’ve missed  _ being  _ around you. At least when I was with you I was happy, and then...”

 

“And then I went and ruined it all.” Rick finished Ford’s sentence for him. “I turned you over and ruined your life.”

 

“My life was already ruined.” Ford muttered. “Having a guy like Cipher drifting in and out of your mind whenever he pleased is enough to ruin anyone’s life. I just hope he hasn’t tried to get anything out of my brother. Hopefully Stan, the lying cheat that he is, will be able to see Bill for his true self, and won’t end up repeating my mistakes.”

 

Rick bit his lip, thinking for a moment, before reaching across and hesitantly placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Hey, that wasn’t your fault. Bill’s a no-good, dirty rotten scam-artist. He’s been around for thousands of years, he’s conned countless numbers of people. He scammed you too and that wasn’t your fault Fordsy.”

 

Ford had been about to break Rick’s arm for touching him, but his words made him stop and think. “I suppose...I still don’t feel any better about what I did for him, though. I guess all I can hope at the moment is that he hasn’t broken through the portal into my dimension. It would mean the end of the world.”

 

Rick frowned. “I’m sure he hasn’t, otherwise no doubt we would have heard something about it. He’s still stuck in the Nightmare Realm as far as we’re aw-uurp-aware.”

 

Ford nodded a little and sighed. He glanced at the door behind him. “We’d better get moving before someone finds us. We can have a heart-to-heart about who’s the bigger idiot later. Hint: It’s you.”

 

Rick couldn’t help but chuckle as he stood up, helping Ford to his feet. “Yeah, it’s me alright.” He brought another small device out of his pocket and pressed a button on the side of it. A three-dimensional hologram appeared, showing a map of the surrounding area of the facility. He pointed to a wall at the far end of the corridor alongside the room they were currently in. “This wall here is as far as we can get from this ward without having to go through a herd of guards. It’s also not under as high a level of sec-uurp-security as the room we’re in at the moment, so we should be able to use the portal gun on it.”

 

Ford nodded as he studied the map. “This place is still swarming with guards, though. It’s easy enough for you to get there with that disguise generator of yours but it’s going to be a little harder for me.”

 

Rick frowned in thought for a moment, analysing the map again. “It’s not that far, I reckon if we’re careful we can make it. I brought a blaster for each of us, anyway, so we can always shoot the guards if they get too close.”

 

Ford nodded, taking the blaster that Rick handed to him from his backpack. “You look like you’ve prepped for the apocalypse.” He smirked.

 

Rick chuckled as he put the map away. “Couldn’t afford to not b-uurp-be prepared. With the sort’a shit we’re dealing with, it pays to be prepared.”

 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “No shit. Just wish I’d been prepared for you handing me over.”

 

Rick frowned. “You know I’m sorry, and I know I’ll never make it up to you, but for now we have to focus. You can berate me l-uurp-later.”

 

Ford nodded with a roll of his eyes, standing beside the door with his blaster in one hand. Rick fiddled with the device on his wrist once more as the Gromflomite disguise fizzled back into place. “Right, let’s get moving.”

 

Ford nodded, raising his blaster a little as Rick drew his own. Rick slowly opened the door and checked down both sides of the hallway. “Right, the coast is clear. We should be able to get out unnoticed,” he murmured.

 

“Alright,” Ford nodded, mentally and physically preparing himself to run. Rick stepped out into the hall and took hold of Ford’s arm, guiding him down the hall towards the wall. Both of them kept their senses heightened, on edge and ready for any guards to come too close. Miraculously, they made it halfway down the hall with no incident. 

 

“We’re halfway there,” Rick murmured. “So far so good.”

 

“Rick I swear to God if you fuck this up….” Ford threatened.

 

“I won’t. We’ll be fine.” Rick replied. “We’re almost there, anyway.”

 

“Don’t fuck this up for us…” Ford muttered, glancing around to make sure they still hadn’t been spotted. It was a miracle in itself that they had made it this far. 

 

“Hey, it’s only you that matters here, not me. I frankly don’t care if I get out of this or not, as long as you do.” Rick shrugged, his alien shoulders moving in a freakish, jerky fashion. 

 

“That’s really nice to know, thanks,” Ford muttered sarcastically. “Good thing I can always count on you, huh?”

 

Rick just frowned, deciding to stay quiet this time instead of replying with something equally as snarky. “We’re nearly there, come on. Just a little farther.”

 

As they approached the wall, they could hear footsteps getting closer. “Shit!” Rick hissed, grabbing Ford’s hand and dragging him to a nearby doorway, roughly pushing him inside before standing in front of him to hide him. The group of guards walked past them without noticing them. The footsteps retreated and the hallway was silent once more. 

 

“Phew, that was close,” Rick breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He turned around to make sure Ford was alright, but froze.

 

Rick had shoved him through the doorway into one of the guards’ break rooms. Ford was currently being restrained by three Gromflomites, blasters being pointed at him from all angles. Had Rick been in his human state at this point, the colour would have drained completely from his face. “.... shit…”

 

Ford stood there giving Rick a death glare as he struggled fruitlessly against the guards. Rick’s eyes went wide and he swore he felt his heart stop. There were six guards in the room, all pointing blasters at Ford.

 

“What is this prisoner doing out of his cell?!” One guard demanded. “What’s your clearance code?!”

 

“Uhm…” Rick swallowed, fumbling for the fake ID badge on his guard’s uniform. “QZ67 Delta 3.”

 

“That’s bullshit.” Another guard snapped. “You’re not Calvin. He’s down in the canteen two floors below us.”

 

Rick desperately tried to think of an excuse. “Oh, well I must’a picked up his card by accident. I’m sure he’s got mine.”

 

“But surely you’d know your own identification?”

 

“I-I’m new here. Only been on a week.” Rick replied. He cursed silently at how his breath was too quick and how his voice shook and stumbled. 

 

“Bullshit.” Another guard, the one grasping Ford’s left arm, said. “The newest lot of staff were hired three months ago. Nobody has been hired since then.”

 

_ Shit…  _ Rick was rapidly running out of options, clutching at straws in an attempt to keep both himself and Ford away from being captured and locked up again, or worse. “Well I was hired as a last-minute temporary fill-in for someone else. He’s just gone on paternity leave, so I’m taking his place for a month.”

 

“Oh really? Who are you filling in for?” The guard looked sceptical. “There’s four employees currently on paternity leave. Which one are you filling in for?”

 

Rick swallowed. “J-Jerald… Jerald Parker…” he stammered. He’d plucked a name out of thin air, desperately hoping that it would work. 

 

“As if. Jerald Parker is gay. He hasn’t got a wife.” The guard retorted. “You’re an imposter.” He aimed his blaster at Rick. “Who are you really?”

 

Rick risked a glance at Ford, finding the man gazing at him with a mixture of fear and anger in his eyes. He swallowed and reached into his pocket for something. He pulled out a small, spherical device, holding it out to the guards. Three of them leaned in, looking at the object curiously. 

 

_ BANG! _

All of a sudden, the room was filled with grey smoke, the guards’ ears ringing. The three guards holding onto Ford had let go of him in favour of pressing their hands against their ears. Rick rushed forwards and grabbed Ford, pulling him out of the room and running down the hallway.

 

“I knew you’d fuck this up!” Ford snapped, glancing over his shoulder to see if the guards were following them. Before long, the guards were running up the hallway after them.

 

“Now’s not the time for this!” Rick shot back, fiddling with the watch on his wrist to deactivate his disguise. It didn’t matter any more. He tossed Ford a spare gun, firing his own over his shoulder at the guards chasing them. A few of them got hit, collapsing to the ground. An alarm went off above their heads, a screeching, wailing noise accompanied by red flashing lights.

 

Both humans rushed down corridors right and left, trying to get the guards off their tail. The further they ran, the more guards seemed to close in on them from everywhere. The sirens continued blaring out above them. Ford darted around a corner and hid behind it, shooting at the guards behind them. Rick stood just beside him, both of them firing. The guards fired back, the shots barely missing the two men. One shot clipped Rick’s shoulder and he let out a gasp, collapsing back around the corner of the hallway. Ford kept firing, trying to hold them off.

 

The shot had easily burned through Rick’s clothes, searing and cutting his flesh. His would bled and ached, the flesh searing hot and blackened by the heat. It stung horribly, the air around them filled with the scent of burned skin and muscle. Rick hissed in pain, quickly tying some bandages around his arm to stem the flow of blood.

 

“Could you maybe hurry up?!” Ford asked, his focus still on holding off the guards. “We’re running out of time! They’re gonna be on us any minute now!”

  
“I’ve got it!” Rick exclaimed, grabbing Ford’s arm and pulling him away from the corridor. They continued to sprint down the hallway, firing at the guards chasing them. They heard multiple shouts from the guards behind them as several of them were hit by the humans’ shots. Several others cried out as their colleagues and friends were shot down. Neither Ford nor Rick seemed to hold any sort of remorse or guilt for their actions - getting out was their only priority, and they were more than prepared to shoot people if that was what it took. 

 

Inevitably, they reached a dead end, managing to screech to a halt in front of the wall. They turned around, preparing to run back the way they came to find another exit, but found their path blocked by guards. The two humans froze in place upon seeing numerous blasters being pointed at them. Several of the guards were nursing minor injuries, the ones with more severe wounds having fallen behind. Most of them had spots of black blood on their uniforms and every single one of them looked pissed off beyond comprehension.

 

“Drop your weapons!” One guard at the front snapped. “You’re outnumbered, and you’re trapped. Drop your weapons or we’ll shoot!”

 

Ford and Rick exchanged a quick glance, before nodding to each other. Slowly, keeping their heads down, they set their blasters down on the ground a foot in front of them, in plain view of the guards. The last thing either of them wanted was to get shot at such a close range.

 

“Now, keep your hands where we can see them and step forward!” The guard ordered.

 

Ford moved to step forward as the guard asked, until Rick grabbed his upper arm and pulled him back to stand beside him. Rick leaned over to whisper into Ford’s ear. 

 

“On the count of three, face the wall and jump. Don’t look back, don’t bother about me, just do it.”

 

“What?!” Ford hissed. “Are you insane?!”

 

“Yeah, I am. I handed you over to these goons in the first place. Of course I’m insane.”

 

“Hey!” The guard barked. “I said step forward! Do it, now, or we’ll shoot you!”

 

Slowly, not breaking eye contact with the guards, Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out the portal gun, hiding it behind his back. Of course, the guards saw the gun as a weapon and aimed their blasters at him. “Drop your weapon! Now!”

 

Rick flicked a dial on the gun and some coordinates appeared on the small display. Lifting the gun up behind his back and aiming it at the wall, Rick put his finger on the trigger, glancing at Ford. “One.”

 

“Rick no! What are you doing?!” Ford hissed, his heart racing. “You’re gonna get us killed.”

 

“Ford listen to me. I’ve fucked up and this is the only way I can make sure you get outta here safely at this point.” Rick said. “I know you hate my guts right now but you’ve gotta trust me, just this once. Please. If you don’t do this, we’ll both die. At least if you jump through you’ll be safe.”

 

The guards advanced forwards, closing in on the men. Rick and Ford each took a small step backwards. Rick glanced at Ford again. “Two.”

 

“There’s gotta be another way around this!” Ford protested as Rick raised the gun a little higher, still aiming at the spot on the wall behind them. He knew what Rick was doing, and wasn’t prepared to let him go that easily. “Please, Rick!”

 

All at once, Rick pulled Ford in for a very quick kiss, before firing at the wall. A large green disk exploded onto the wall behind them and Rick swiftly pushed Ford through it, before tossing the portal gun to the ground and stepping on it, crushing it to pieces. The portal behind him fizzled out and died. At the same time, the guards fired, the sounds of their shots being carried through he portal a moment before it collapsed.

 

Ford landed in a heap on the floor of a familiar apartment, the smell of stale booze and leftover takeaway filling the air. Gunshots echoed out above his head and he threw his arms over his head to protect himself from any stray shots. He barely had time to turn around before the portal disappeared in front of his eyes.

 

Everything came crashing down around him at that moment, realisation hitting him with the force of a runaway freight train. Rick had shoved him through, knowing Ford wouldn’t jump through without him. The gunshots he had heard indicated that the guards had fired a split second after the portal appeared. He looked around, desperately, hopelessly wishing that Rick was with him.

 

He was utterly alone in the apartment.

 

As the last of the adrenaline left his system, Ford forced himself to stand up. He hadn’t noticed he’d been sobbing until he felt lightheaded, and realised he wasn’t in control of his ragged, shallow breathing. Taking a few breaths to steady himself, Ford left the living room and headed into the bedroom, intent on collecting supplies. He couldn’t stay here. He had to keep going. He was never going to be able to defeat Bill by sitting on his ass in some apartment, doing nothing all day. As he gathered clothes, weapons and medical equipment, he spotted the sack of reward money underneath Rick’s bed. It was still full, the string tied firmly around it. Thinking for a moment, Ford took half of the money, sticking it into a small black rubbish bag and stuffing it into his large backpack. 

 

Ford let out a shaky breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind finally calm enough to process what had just happened. Rick had sacrificed himself to get Ford out of there, and it had worked. Rick was most likely dead while Ford was free to live on and complete his mission - bringing down Cipher. Rick had known that bringing down that demon was more important than his own life, and had willingly died so that Ford could continue to build a weapon suitable of defeating Bill. Rick hadn’t thought twice about dying, knowing that if he got Ford out of the prison, there was a chance of defeating the demon.

 

Maybe Rick wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

 

Ford shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell over his maybe-dead ex-boyfriend. He had to keep going. Grabbing some food from the kitchen and making sure he had everything he could possibly need, he left the apartment, locking the door and stuffing the keys back through the letterbox. He headed towards the garage, where the ship he and Rick had built together still sat, waiting to be used. Ford climbed into the driver’s seat and started it up. Driving out of the garage, Ford directed the ship upwards, flying far off up into the sky and leaving the apartment behind. 


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford allows himself to forget.

To say that readjusting to life on the run was difficult would have been over exaggeration. Ford found it rather easy compared to readjusting to living in an actual house, where he was able to eat regularly and not have to worry about being hunted for bounty or food. As much as Ford would have liked to stay in the apartment, where he was safe and secure, he knew he had to move on. Staying there would only have made him angry.

 

He would have woken up every day in the same bed he had once shared with Rick. He would have had to stare at the same stains on the carpet in the living room where Rick had thrown his flask after that fight over his drinking habits. He’d have to look at the same cooker in the same kitchen where they’d first kissed. He couldn’t do that to himself.  
  
He had to move on. At the end of the day, his goal was still very much unreached. He still had to take down Bill, and sitting in a dirty apartment somewhere in Connecticut was not going to help him in the slightest. He couldn’t afford to dwell over Rick’s death. As much as he knew he needed to, he couldn’t afford to grieve over him. He had to pick himself up off the ground and keep moving.  
  
So that’s precisely what Ford did. For twenty years, as he continued to roam the multiverse, gathering tools and supplies necessary to build his weapon, he didn’t once allow himself to think of Rick. Over time, the memories of their time together gradually got forced out of his mind and locked away in a dark corner. He didn’t think of Rick once after the first year. And after the first five years, if someone had said the name ‘Rick Sanchez’ to him, he would have only thought of the notorious Rick Sanchez of Dimension C137, not his own deceased partner.  

 

By the end of the second decade after Rick’s death, during summertime in his own dimension, Ford found himself standing at an open interdimensional rift, a completed Quantum Destabilizer in his hands. He knew that the rift led directly to Bill’s world and thus the demon himself. All of the last thirty years had led up to this moment. The moment he would finally rid the multiverse of Bill Cipher.  
  
Except Ford didn’t expect a huge gaping hole to open up and drag him through from the Nightmare Realm as soon as he stepped inside. He didn’t have the chance to even find Bill before he was sucked through, the gateway to the hell behind him shutting as soon as he had slipped through.  
  
He’d spent so long working on his weapon to defeat Cipher, but of course, his brother had picked that moment to save him.  
  
Ford had of course been furious when his brother stood there, grinning as though he’d won the lottery. Stanley had been completely clueless as to what could have happened had he kept that portal open any longer. Ford had subsequently cold-shouldered him for a week, rarely engaging in conversation with Stan after the younger twin had claimed that the kids were ‘the only family he had left’. Ford had felt something uncomfortable heat up in the pit of his stomach and had shut himself in his lab, trying to contain the mess his brother could have easily prevented.

 

It was only Ford’s work, and his time spent with his over-enthusiastic nephew, that kept his mind from drifting back to that alcoholic scientist. He didn’t have time to think of much else besides the fact that the world could damn well end at any given moment. Then the world _did_ end, giving Ford a much bigger distraction from those memories.

 

After it was all over, however, Ford had nothing. The twins had soon gone home to their parents and Ford and Stan had embarked on their ‘worldwide’ expedition on the Stan O War mark II. (Stan kept telling everyone it was worldwide until Ford pointed out that the Pacific Ocean only covers about 30% of the world’s surface). There wasn’t all that much to do on the boat besides reading, fishing, sleeping and recording whatever sorts of anomalies they could find. New discoveries were few and far between, so for days at a time, the twins would find themselves bored out of their skulls.  
  
Stan liked to sunbathe on the deck during the evenings, claiming it helped ‘regain his lost youth’. This never failed to amuse Ford. Ford was always a lot more conscious of his body, even around his own twin, and rarely took his shirt off. One day in particular, with temperatures reaching almost a hundred degrees, Ford eventually lost the battle with the heat and lay shirtless on a deckchair next to his brother.  
  
“Hey Ford?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You got hurt a lot while you were gone, huh?”  
  
“Yes, Stanley, I did.” Ford said softly. “When you’re on the run and being hunted for food and for bounty, you do end up getting injured a lot. Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly have the option of receiving medical help from professionals, so I had to fix my wounds up myself.”

 

“Oh really?” Stan’s voice sounded skeptical. “All of them?”  
  
“Yes, all of them.”  
  
“Then what about this one?” Stan pointed to a straight line about two inches long along the right side of Ford’s ribcage.

 

Ford sat up a little and looked. He went pale. That was the scar from when he was stabbed at that bar, when he’d been out with…

 

“Rick…”

 

“Who?”  
  
Ford shook his head quickly and lay back down. “Oh, nobody. Just someone I met back when I was in the portal.”  
  
“Was he the one who hurt you?” Stan said, curling his hands into fists.

 

“... yeah, he did. He died, though, not long after I was stabbed.” Ford shut his eyes to try and appear casual, but it was really just to hide the fear and anger in them.

 

“Good.” Stan huffed. “Anyone who hurt my brother like that had it coming to them.”  
  
While Ford would have liked to explain his time with Rick to his brother, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, he allowed himself to chuckle softly. “Thanks, Stan,” he murmured.

  
“No problem, bro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! I know this chapter took a while to come, and I know it's short, but there really wasn't all that much to add. I felt as though a short, hopefully-sweet ending would work best, and I'm happy with this.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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